Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between
by someone5
Summary: Lit, Post Season 4. Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running to.
1. Prologue: It's there

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Title: Her Second Chance

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running_ to_.

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Notes: I've had this idea in my head for months. I've finally began writing it out, and I'm very anxious to see what you think. I've never done anything like this before. Ever. Nervous is an understatement at this point. It's post finale, and yes, I know, it's been done. But I hope this is different. Please give it a chance. This is the prologue, but it takes place in the future. To give you a chance to see what's going to happen. A teaser. I think you'll get it...

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Prologue: It's there

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He doesn't say it often - that he loves her.

She does.

He'll give a slight nod, or a half smile. Perhaps a kiss. Sometimes he doesn't respond at all. But that's okay because she knows it's there.

It was there that day when **he** gave **her** a second chance. She showed up on his doorstep, with an apology and a kiss and a story to tell. He was angered by the story. He questioned her motives. Did she want to run to him, or did she just want to run? But in the end, that apology, and especially that kiss, won out over all his doubts.

It's there when he puts on **her** favorite CD. Even if it's Heart, or Fleetwood Mac, or some other flavor of the week that he hates. Of course, he doesn't really hate them; the music itself may be bland, but the smile on her face or the slight giggle that erupts from her throat makes up for the ringing in his ears.

It's there when he leaves a book on the bed or the counter or the couch as a surprise for her. Always riddled with notes, his scratchy penmanship acting as a window to his soul, his thoughts, his feelings. Books she loves, books she hates, books she's never even heard of; they're always there, always read, always examined and picked apart by his mind beforehand.

It's there when he watches her and doesn't think she notices.

Yeah, especially then.

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Notes: Please review. I have no idea what I'm doing. I've never written anything like this before. Whether you loved it or hated it, please, drop me a line


	2. One: The Wrong Him

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Title: Her Second Chance

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running_ to_.

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Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

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Notes: Alright, this is now. As in, the part in the prologue hasn't happened yet. I hope you like.

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Chapter One: The Wrong _Him_

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She collapsed on the lawn as the uncontrollable sobs wracked her body. Images of minutes before flew through her mind.

"He was cheating, Rory. He was cheating, and you were cheating with him. There's no other way to spin that, kid."

No. It wasn't cheating. Not in that sense. This was not just some meaningless fling. Dean cared about her. Dean loved her.

"This is your first time. It's just not the way your first time was supposed to be. "

But it....it was...it was fine, it was with someone who cares about her. It was...it just was, and it was fine.

"I didn't raise you to be like this. I didn't raise you to be the kind of girl who sleeps with someone else's husband."

She didn't just sleep with someone else's husband. It was Dean. Dean, her Dean, the Dean who built her a car, who tolerated her rambling, who made her a bracelet.

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Rory. What if he doesn't leave her? Now you're all emotionally involved."

What if he...he'll leave her. He has to. Things aren't working out. They aren't right for each other. He wouldn't have slept with her if he wasn't going to leave.

"Well, obviously, you weren't ready for this step. The very fact that you chose another girl's guy to sleep with proves that! "

She was ready. She was so ready. She may not have been in a 'relationship' with him, but they would be. She wanted that, right?

"But you dumped him! You rejected him! You picked someone else!"

She did pick someone else.

Someone else...

"Hello?"

It hit her all at once. _She_ answered the phone. _She_. There was a _she_. Not Rory, but a different she. Dean's wife _she_. _She_ answered the phone for Christ's sake.

Oblivious.

Unknowing.

"Hello?"

He _was_ cheating. And her first time wasn't suppose to be 'fine'. It should have been amazing and perfect. Lorelai didn't raise her to be like this! She _wasn't_ ready! She picked someone else over Dean...someone she....

What was she thinking? Why had she...

She was lonely.

She missed _him_.

She loved _him_.

...she loved him?

Yes, she _loved_ him, but now?

He loves Lindsay.

She loves...

...not Dean.

She slept with the wrong _him_.

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Lorelai watched helplessly as the realization of what she'd done hit her daughter full force.

She stood there, on the porch, while her baby began to understand the consequence of her actions.

"My first time was with someone sweet and kind who loves me."

Someone who uses you to cheat on his wife can't be that sweet and kind. And he sure as hell can't love you.

"You slept with dad when he was with Sherry. He was engaged, and she was pregnant."

Chris said they were broken up. He said that it was over. The engagement was off. He was going to stay. He didn't know she was pregnant. Rory knew Dean was married.

"You're just mad because I didn't come running to you to discuss whether or not I was ready for this step. I decided it on my own."

She had been worried about _Jess_. This was going to happen with Jess, not Dean. Jess is the one that bothered her. Jess is the one who made her wait up by the window until he brought Rory home, hopefully in one piece. Jess is the one she didn't want her daughter _alone_ with. Jess, the evil boyfriend. The one that hurt her baby. Not Dean.

"He was my boyfriend first!"

Was she really that diluded? Did she really believe that made a difference? "Finders keepers" my ass. That doesn't apply.

"I hate you for ruining this for me!"

Doesn't she realize that the situation ruined itself?

Her daughter...

...Married man.

Did she even love him?

She stood, frozen, as her daughter's small frame continued shaking with the never ending tidal wave of tears.

And she couldn't move.

She couldn't comfort her.

She didn't want to.

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Lorelai finally willed her legs to move. One foot in front of the other. Hand on the railing, one step at a time. Now down the path. One, two, three, four steps. Four steps away from the porch. Four was an incredibly large number.

"Rory? Rory, I..." She honestly had no idea how to continue. What do you say in a situation like this?

Rory sat up, wiping at her face, gaining her composure rather quickly.

"Don't you need to get back to the inn?" Her voice was quiet. Small. Microscopically small. Just like she felt.

"Kirk will live. I can-"

"No. Go."

"No, Rory. I'll stay. I'll call Sookie and-"

"It's your big day. Go back. I need to be alone for a while anyway."

She stood and smoothed her dress the best she could. Lorelai looked at her face, trying to read her. Did she really want her to go? Should she be left alone? Would she be alright? Rory turned to meet her scrutinizing gaze, but Lorelai had to shift her vision. She couldn't even look her own daughter in the eyes.

Rory noticed this, and continued.

"I'm fine. Really."

Unconvincing, but Lorelai decided to go nonetheless. She needs to deal with this on her own. She needs to at least try to deal with this on her own.

"Only if you're sure," she offered. Rory nodded and headed for the house. Lorelai turned to watch her go. No 'good bye'. No 'I'll see you'. No 'call me if you need me'. She desperately wanted to say those things.

She almost did.

But the door was already closed.

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Notes: I hope the POV switches weren't confusing. Please review. Any thought whatsoever would be _so_ appreciated. I'm almost done with chapter two, so it should be up soon.


	3. Two: Those Damned Sheets

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Title: Her Second Chance

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running_ to_.

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Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

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Notes: **Thank you so much for your reviews**. I'm really proud of this so far, and I have many ideas for future chapters. I'm very excited.

One person was confused, and I hope I can clear that up real quick. The prologue was a glimpse into the future; what will happen. A hint, hint. Chapter one started right after the finale. I probably should have clarified that.

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Chapter Two: Those Damned Sheets

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Rory didn't get out of bed for days. Lorelai periodically checked in on her. Asked her if she wanted something to eat. Something to drink. Something....anything?

She couldn't bring herself to move. She couldn't bring herself to care. She could barely bring herself to respond to the tedious questioning of her mother.

Lorelai still hadn't looked her in the eye.

She noticed.

Rory threw out the sheets. As soon as Lorelai went back to the inn four nights ago. She came inside, tore them off of her bed, and put them in the dumpster outside. 'Not far enough away' she thought.

The garbage pick up was today. She actually left her room.

She actually left her house.

She stood on the porch and watched as the contents of the can were emptied into the truck.

Pizza boxes.

Physics notes.

And those damned sheets.

Gone.

Away.

Forever.

She went back to her room almost hopeful.

It still felt the same.

It still felt wrong. Shameful. Dirty. Like there was a thin layer of dust covering everything, covering her. Dimming the shimmer and shine. There used to be a shine to her room. To her personality. To her. But the dirt wouldn't go away.

The sheets did.

She somehow thought it would help. The shine would come back. She would be able to see clearly. To think clearly. The dirt would magically disappear. It would vanish with those sheets.

It had to, right?

But now she knew it wouldn't. She could scrub the floor, the walls, the windows, herself.

She could scrub her skin until it bled.

But that feeling, that dirt, would still be there.

That's when she knew she had to get out.

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She couldn't focus. She hadn't been able to focus for the past four days.

This was suppose to be one of the happiest times of her life. Her dream had come true. Not only had she opened her inn, but her two best friends were her business partners. And Luke, the Luke, _her _Luke, had finally made a move.

Yes, everything was _supposed_ to be perfect.

Why did Rory have to do this?

Not that she didn't hold Dean partially responsible. He was the married man, and it does take two to tango.

But, as horrible as it sounds, she couldn't help but be slightly miffed at her daughter for ruining this for her.

Well, not miffed.

Upset.

No, angry.

Yes. Angry. That was a good word.

She was angry at Rory. She was angry at her for making such an irresponsible decision. She was angry at her for being so naive to think that he leave his wife. For thinking that having that sex would change everything. For ruining _her_ day.

But not pissed off.

Not quite.

But here's the kicker. As if being angry at one person wasn't enough. As if being so disappointed in you best friend, your daughter, your own flesh and blood, didn't take enough time and energy.

She _hated_ herself for thinking that. She hated herself for being so self centered. For being so judgmental. Everyone makes mistakes. Hell, she's the poster child for "Oops, I did it again".

But not Rory. Rory wasn't like her.

Correction: Rory wasn't supposed to be like her. And that was a good thing.

So it turns out her daughter _was_ like her. Oh well; it must be that whole 'genetic' thing. This was not the time to be angry. This was not the time to be disappointed. This was not the time to be self centered, damn it!

She was supposed to be there for her daughter. She was supposed to comfort her and tell her it would be okay, and that everyone makes mistakes, and that they would get past this - together.

Apparently, she was supposed to do a lot of things.

"Lorelai. Lorelai. Anyone in there?"

Lorelai shook from her reverie, willing the vestiges of the situation to the corners of her mind.

"Yeah Sook?"

"You totally checked out there for a few minutes. You okay?"

She tried to use as much conviction as she could muster.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Sookie eyed her skeptically. "You sure?"

"No, but I can't really talk about it."

That was the most honest answer she could come up with.

Sookie decided not to push the issue, "Come on. Happy time. We are the brains behind the most successful inn in Stars Hollow!"

"Since the Independence burned down, we're the only inn in Stars Hollow."

"But that also means we're the best. Silver lining, Lorelai. Work with me."

Sookie smiled brightly. Lorelai couldn't help but laugh at her optimism. Maybe things would be okay after all. They had to get better eventually, right?

"Dean, stop it. We need to pick up your paycheck."

She knew that voice. She knew that voice. That bubbly, high-pitched voice.

Oh no.

Lorelai turned to see the owner of that voice with none other than her husband. Her husband, the husband.

Oh no.

They were here, in her inn. Here, together. In her inn. Together. Laughing and giggling and tickling and nauseating.

Absolutely nauseating.

Lindsay turned to her husband, "Let's go ask Lorelai."

His face suddenly paled. Before he could come up with an excuse, a reason, an objection, they were in front of the reception desk.

"Hi Lorelai."

There she is. Bubbly and annoying.

Wait. She doesn't hate Lindsay. It's the other one. The bean pole cowering next to his pretty blonde wife.

"Hi Lindsay, Dean," There was a bit of venom in her mouth as she spat out that syllable. He flinched. If Lindsay noticed, she didn't let on.

"We were just here to pick up Deany's check. Do you know where Tom is? We're going away for the week, and the sooner we leave, well, you know..."

So, going away for the week, huh? Boff the ex, then take a vacation with the wife. While aforementioned ex is at home, depressed, unable to leave her bed, let alone her room. Nice, Dean.

She smiled sweetly, "Actually, I haven't seen Tom today. But, then again, I've had a lot on my mind. He could have walked right by, and I wouldn't have noticed him."

Dean flinched again.

Lorelai added, "Might want to check with Michel."

Lindsay smiled brightly, "Thanks Lorelai."

Poor thing. Completely oblivious. He slept with someone else! Don't you see? He and Rory-

Oh no.

Rory.

Lorelai turned to Sookie.

"I need to go."

"Now?"

"Is that okay? It's important." She was already gathering her purse and jacket.

"Sure. Just, call me later; let me know if everything's okay."

"Promise."

And with that, she was across the foyer and out the door.

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She showered and packed as lightly as she could. As soon as Babette left for her aerobics class at Patty's, she took her bag out to the car.

Babette is the only one who would have asked questions. If anyone else noticed, they wouldn't think twice about it.

She was filling a thermos of coffee when Lorelai came home.

Early.

Shit.

She entered the kitchen aimlessly, not expecting there to be another body already occupying the space. She jumped, startled.

"Wow. It's nice to see you up."

Rory turned to face her mother.

"Yeah. I thought it was time."

"Good. That's good."

"You're home early." She tried to act as casual as she could. She was never good at lying, but Lorelai didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah." Lorelai shifted uncomfortably, "Actually, we need to talk."

"Mom, I don't think I'm-"

"I know, you aren't ready to talk about it, and that's fine. But, I still need to tell you something pertaining to..._it_."

Relieved, Rory tried to continue to say as little as possible, "Oh, okay. Shoot."

"Well, there's no easy way to say this honey. And the last thing I want to do is see you hurting like this."

Rory stared at her blankly, waiting patiently for her to continue.

"Well, I saw Dean today. I didn't talk to him, but...well, he was with Lindsay. And, well hun, they looked very much together. They _were_ very much together."

She paused, unsure of how much she should reveal to her daughter. Then again, she didn't want her holding on to hope. As horrible as that sounds, Rory needs to let this go.

So, she continued, "They're going away together."

Rory nodded, and...was that a smile?

"Oh. That's good."

And that's actually how she felt.

Lorelai was taken aback at her daughter's calmness.

"That's good?"

"Yeah. I'm glad I could help."

Lorelai looked at her, in the eye this time, shocked and dumbfounded.

"It was a joke." Rory looked away, not sure how Lorelai would react.

"I know. I...know. I just didn't know we were in the 'Joking Phase' yet. This is not really a funny-haha situation."

"I'm going to have to move on eventually."

Lorelai closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them again, her gaze had softened.

"Did I mention that it's really good to see you up?"

Rory tried her best to smile, "I was actually going to go see Lane."

"Okay. That's good. Get out of this house. It's probably driving you crazy being cooped up in here." Lorelai smiled back, somewhat forced, like her daughter.

Rory nodded and took her coffee. She was half-way out the back door when Lorelai spoke up again.

"Rory? No one knows. I mean, he hasn't told anyone as far as I can tell."

She nodded again and shut the door.

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She was sitting in her car.

Just sitting there.

He went back to Lindsay. Of course he did. He is her husband.

Husband. There it is again. That sure is a scary word, especially when you're not the wife of said husband.

And they were going away together. She actually laughed at that. An honest, no holds barred laugh.

She specifically said, "_Maybe you could, um, go see a counselor or go away together_."

"...go away together".

Specifically.

"We're not happy. She's not happy, and I can't make her happy."

So, now he's decided to give it one more go?

"...it's just -- it's over. We both feel it. I know we both feel it."

What a load of crap!

But she wasn't upset. It was funny to her.

Was it suppose to be funny?

She wasn't sure.

Maybe she was going insane.

Hell, look at what she had decided to do.

Look at where she was going.

She must be.

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Notes: Chapter three should be out soon. And (ahem) _someone_ might enter this crazy mix. Please review!!!! I'm desperate for your opinion of this.


	4. Three: From Point A to Point B

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Title: Her Second Chance

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running_ to_.

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Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

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Notes: I'm so sorry for the delay. Last weekend, I went on the lake trip from hell, and when I got back, I hauled ass to get this done.

So, I had this chapter all written...and it was good, and pretty, and _good_ (which is saying a lot, because I **never** praise my own work). Basically, I was very proud of it. Then my computer killed it. Gone. Forever. (whaaaaaaaa). This is very traumatizing to me. And if this has ever happened to you, you know _exactly_ how I feel. It's not a happy feeling, is it? Ugh. Anyhoo, I hope this re-write turns out to be close to the original.

Thank you everyone for your amazing reviews. You have no idea how much it means to me that you all like this!

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Chapter Three: From Point A to Point B

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As soon as she pulled out of the driveway, her mind went into overdrive.

What was she doing?

Was she insane?

That was the only probable explanation.

She couldn't go to New York. Just to see him? No. _No_. It was crazy.

Well, she _had_ gone once before.

But that was an entirely different situation!

He probably wouldn't even want to see her. She'd have to tell him what had happened. Then he _definitely_ wouldn't want to see her. He would never forgive her. Or worse, he would.

Besides, she didn't even have his address. New York's a very big city. She had no idea where he would be. No way of finding him. She should just turn back now.

Then again, Luke would probably have the address. _And_ he would probably give it to her.

Her mind raced for more reasons to turn back. And about a million came to mind. But she was able to disregard or excuse every single one of them. Her need to see him, to talk to him, to know what might have been...

It overwhelmed her.

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It was the afternoon when she reached the diner. She sighed as she killed the ignition.

So much for a stealthy exit.

She should just go home now. Every fiber of her being told her to do so. That this was a bad idea. She wasn't good with this whole spontaneity thing. Luke probably didn't even have his address. She hadn't thought this out. She hadn't made lists, she hadn't discussed it with her mother, she hadn't even packed rationally.

Screw it.

Time to throw rational out the window.

She exited the car and made her way across the street to Luke's.

The bell above the door announced her arrival. Luckily, the diner was sparsely filled with faces unfamiliar to her.

She suddenly became very self-conscious. Like everyone was watching her. Like they knew what she had done. They knew where she was going. They were judging her.

Of course, she realized, they weren't. These were faces that didn't know her. Faces that didn't even acknowledge her arrival.

She almost wished they would. She wished that these strangers would rise up and block the door. She wished that they would be able to see through her, to realize her plan (or lack thereof) and immediately talk her out of it. That they would tell her that, _yes_, she was crazy. That padded walls and straight jackets _were_ necessary. Then the pretty men in white coats would appear and take her away. Away from this town, away from her life, away from _him_ and her crazy thoughts forever.

She closed her eyes and wished.

"Rory? You okay?"

She opened her eyes. Nothing had changed. The exact same tourists were in the exact same seats. No straight jacket. No padded walls. No pretty men. Well, there was Luke. Luke?

"Yoo-hoo? Rory?" He waved his hand in front of her face in a futile attempt to shake her from her trance.

She briefly wondered if she had said that all aloud. Then another question entered her mind.

"Did you just say 'yoo-hoo'?" She inquired, genuinely curious to know if she heard correctly.

"You were kind of spacey there for a second," he replied, ignoring her question, much to her dismay. "Are you alright?"

"What? Me? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Perfectly fine. I'm a-okay."

It's official. Stealth was not her strong suit.

Luke nodded, unconvinced. "So, you want to sit and get some coffee? Or are you going to block the door all day?"

"I need to talk to you. In your apartment. Please."

And with that she passed him and disappeared behind the curtain, most likely beginning her ascent of the stairs. Luke stared after her dumbfounded. After a few moments, he decided he should probably follow her. After yelling some excuse to Caesar, he followed her path taking the stairs two at a time, intrigued to find out what was going on.

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He entered the apartment to find her sitting on the couch, holding a pillow. Well, she wasn't holding it. She was picking at it. A lone string dangled between her thumb and forefinger, and she was watching it intently. As if it held all the answers to some unknown question.

She didn't notice him enter, so he spoke first.

"So, you wanted to talk?"

He stopped when she jumped about three feet off the cushions. Like she wasn't expecting him to be there. Shaking his head, he sat in the chair across from her. He would wait for her to speak this time.

Realizing it was going to be her responsibility to explain herself, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing the situation to go away once more.

But of course, things don't work like that.

"I need to ask you something," she ventured unsteadily, unsure of how to broach the subject.

When Luke didn't respond, she went on, "This is probably going to sound completely crazy, but then again, I think I may have gone completely crazy, so you need to bear with me here."

"Rory, are you alright?" he asked, sincerely concerned.

"I need Jess's address." Great. Blurt it out. Just lovely.

Luke's eyes went wide and his face went pale. In any other given situation, she would have found it funny.

"You what?"

"If you have it, and...if you don't mind giving it to me."

"Do you want to go see him? Does your mom know about this?"

"Luke, I just...I...please, Luke. I really need to do this." She looked him in the eyes now, pleading.

This sure as hell wasn't going to help further his relationship with Lorelai.

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It was getting late. The sun was starting to go down. Rory should have been home by now.

Lorelai checked her watch for the third time in five minutes.

Maybe she stopped back in when Lorelai went back to the inn.

Of course!

After Rory went to see Lane, she went back to the inn for a while. Rory must have come home when she was gone.

But where was she now?

Luke's!

It was about dinner time. She was probably there right now, waiting for Lorelai to join her.

And here she was watching reruns of _The Sopranos_.

Sure, she was getting lots of good ideas on ways to dismember Dean.

But that could wait.

With that she switched off the television and picked up the phone. Might as well try Lane's first.

Lord knows enough has happened in the past few days to warrant a day-long sit down. She could still be explaining the situation to her best friend.

After a brief conversation, Lorelai hung up the phone with the very confused young woman.

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"No, Rory and I didn't have plans to meet today."

Well, it was just a spontaneous thing.

"No, I haven't seen her for days."

She decided to come over at the last minute. Maybe she was just out, and Rory happened to miss her.

"No, she couldn't have missed me. I've been here all day."

Hmm. Well, that doesn't make much sense, does it.

Why would she lie about where she was going? Why would she lie _period_?

Oh no.

She was going to see Dean.

She left right after she told her about the trophy wife and bean pole incident. Why hadn't she thought of this sooner? Was there a change in her attitude? In her demeanor?

She made that joke!

Oh, why hadn't she noticed? She shouldn't have even told her about it. She was obviously hurting. So, being the stellar mother that she is, she went and told her daughter that, yes, her first love, who coincidentally took her virginity, had gone back to his wife.

Dear god, her life was starting to sound like a soap opera. All she needed was a clone and a bastard child she had no recollection of giving birth to.

But that wasn't the point. Rory, upon hearing all of these things, had gone to talk to him...to see him.

Had he and Lindsay already left for their trip? What if Lindsay was there when Rory showed up? Or worse, what if she wasn't?

Ah. Mental image.

Her daughter had taken off to find her married ex-boyfriend to par-take in round two.

Yep. Welcome to _The Young and the Shameless_. Starring...

Ugh. Focus, Lorelai.

She abruptly stood up, but didn't move. Where should she go? To their house? That would sound great.

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"Hey Lindsay. I was wondering if Rory was here. I think she came by for a quickie with your husband. Have you seen her?"

Right. How 'bout we call that 'Plan B'.

Where else could she look?

Her room.

There had to be something in her room. A note. A strand of hair. A finger print. Something!

Where were those cute guys from CSI when you need them?

She slowly made her way across the living room to the kitchen. She paused momentarily before opening the door.

She knew immediately that something was wrong.

She went over to her closet and threw open the doors. It was virtually empty.

Her bookshelf had holes where her daughter's favorite copies should have been.

And on the bed....

On the neatly made bed....

On the neatly made bed was a neatly folded note.

A neatly folded note in her daughter's neatly scripted handwriting.

A note that briefly described her daughter's whereabouts.

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"...needed to get away..."

"...don't worry...

"...I'll call..."

She....she ran away? She was gone?

No.

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No.

Lorelai refused to believe it.

It just couldn't be true.

Rory was at the diner. Waiting for her.

And she was going to prove it.

She exited the room quickly, leaving the now crumpled note on the still neatly made bed.

After locating her keys, she exited her house with one destination in mind.

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She had been driving for hours. She actually didn't mind. The monotony of the pavement, the trees, the lines, the cars, it calmed her. It helped to keep her mind off of...things. Focus on the task at hand. The task at hand being to get from Point A to Point B. Don't think about what Point A was or what Point B may be. Just get to Point B. That's your mission, your quest, your purpose in life. Just get to Point B.

The only problem was, what does she do once she gets to Point B?

She had to push that question out of her mind at least a dozen times throughout the trip.

It was later now. Not still day, but not quite night. Dusk. That's what it was. Such a pretty word. Such a pretty concept. Not light, not dark. The in-between.

That's where she was now.

Not Point A, but not quite Point B. The in-between.

The in-between that just happened to lie in front of his apartment building.

The mission is over.

The quest complete.

It's time for a new purpose in life.

Getting out of the car would be a good start.

Maybe she should go get some coffee.

Or drive around a little more...to clear her head.

No!

She would not chicken out here. For once in her life, she wasn't going to be rational. She was going to take a chance. She hadn't come this far for nothing.

She had a new mission.

A new quest.

A new purpose in life.

To get out of the damn car.

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The closer that she got to the diner, the more her hope faded.

The note was clear. She had left. To where, she didn't specify. But her clothes were gone. Her books were gone. Her car was gone.

Rory was gone.

It all made sense. Why would she want to stay here all summer? Rory had encountered a problem, so Rory was going to run from it.

She was beginning to think she hadn't raised her daughter very well at all.

She told herself to stay calm. That it was probably a big misunderstanding. That she read the note wrong. That Rory _was_ at the diner.

She was.

She didn't break her stride as she approached the diner door - instead, she thrust it open with force and entered in a frenzied panic.

She surveyed the area. Counter. Tables. Chairs. Booths.

No Rory.

That was okay.

She was probably just here. They had just missed each other.

Of course!

She had just been here waiting for her. Or perhaps she had just finished a meal.

She was on her way home at this very second.

They had probably even crossed paths a few moments before, but both were too caught up in their own troubles to notice the other.

That made perfect sense.

It was then that she noticed Luke exit the kitchen with two plates in tow.

All she had to do was ask him how long ago it was that Rory left.

Ah, Luke. _The_ Luke. _Her_ Luke.

Something else she had to deal with.

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It was then he noticed Lorelai in the diner.

Did she know yet? Was that why she was here? He was going to have to tell her sooner or later. He was hoping it was going to be the latter, but fate had never been kind to Luke. Knowing his luck, this was going to end any semblance of a relationship he had going with Lorelai.

Something else he had to deal with.

He carelessly gave the tourists their meals, receiving a scorn and perhaps losing his tip.

She stayed standing in the middle of the diner as if she didn't even notice he was there. She made no attempt to approach him. No attempt to speak.

Once again, he was forced to take the initiative.

"Lorelai. Hey." Yeah. Real smooth, Luke.

"Hi," she smiled shyly. A flirty technique she used in an attempt to hopefully lighten the mood. Or the mood to come, as it may be.

"So, you want to sit and get some coffee?" he offered, desperately trying to put off what he knew he had to tell her.

"Oh, no. I'm not staying. I just have a quick question."

The second Gilmore in one day to refuse coffee. He could've swore the world was ending. Hell, _his_ world probably was ending. Stupid fate.

"Oh, okay."

"And this is probably going to sound completely crazy, but then again, lately I feel like I've gone completely crazy, so-"

How many conversations had started like that for him today? Oh, that's right. Two too many.

"-so I'm just going to come out and say it, I guess. I just haven't seen Rory for a while...well, she wasn't home when I got back from the inn earlier, so I was just wondering if she had been here earlier. Has she been here?" She looked at him hopefully.

Crap.

"Yeah, actually she was here earlier."

He saw her face instantly light up, and he cursed himself for having to break this to her.

"She was? I knew it. We just missed each other, right? She was just in here for dinner, wasn't she? Oh, I can't believe I got myself so worked up about this." She sighed in relief and placed a hand on her chest, as if it would help steady her breathing.

Upon noticing the frown on his face, she continued, not as enthusiastically. "She was _just _here, right?"

"No. Um, actually, she was here a few hours ago."

Her face contorted with complete confusion. "A few _hours_ ago? But where is she now? She's not at home. She's not at Lane's. Oh god, she _is_ with Dean."

"Dean?" Now Luke was confused.

"Yes, _Dean_." She was furious. Absolutely furious. How dare she! Not only did she worry Lorelai half to death, but she was off with a married man _again_!

Luke noticed the change in disposition, and put his hand on her arm in an attempt to pull her away from the prying ears of Patty and Gypsy, who happened to be at the corner table.

"Lorelai, lets go upstairs and talk about this."

If she even heard him, she didn't acknowledge his request. "I raised her better than this. At least, I thought I did. There are three fundamentals of life you need to teach your child, and I thought I covered them pretty well: always say 'please' and 'thank you', don't take candy from strangers, and never, under any circumstances, have sex with your married ex-boyfriend. Maybe I just didn't review that last one as thoroughly as I thought I did."

The diner was completely silent now, but Lorelai showed no sign of stopping.

"I mean, god Luke, she just took off. Just like that. She told me she was going to Lane's. Lane knew nothing about that, by the way. This last week had been....I don't even know who she is anymore. She doing things that I raised her _not_ to do. I can't believe she-"

"Lorelai." He had a feeling that he had already let her say too much. Way too much. "When she came in here earlier, well...she..."

"What Luke?" She sounded restless. And angry. She was ready to hit something, and he had a feeling it was going to be him.

He tried again, "When she came in here earlier, she asked me for Jess's address."

She froze. He froze. The diner froze.

He felt the earth stop turning.

"Jess? Why...why Jess?" He voice was quieter now. Surprised. Confused. Scared. Jess always scared her. Even more than Dean.

"I don't know."

"Is she going....does she want to see him?"

"I'm assuming so. I don't know Lorelai. She didn't say, but she seemed pretty determined."

So Rory was gone.

She ran away.

To _him_.

Not the him she thought, but a _him_ nonetheless.

It didn't make any sense.

Regardless, the earth started spinning again.

-----------------------------------------

Caesar came out of the kitchen carrying a few plates to find Lorelai standing the middle of the diner, completely at a loss for words. He shook his head. Little did she know that just hours before, her daughter stood in the exact same position.

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She did it!

She, Rory Gilmore, had made it to Point B!

All by herself!

No lists or sanity or rational thought whatsoever played into it. For once she just...went. No late night heart-to-heart with her mom...no stop at Lane's to make sure she was doing the right thing.

Here she was! In front of his apartment door. Less the thirty feet away from _him_.

She surveyed her surroundings once more.

The paint on the walls was chipped. She carpet stained. The air musty.

But none of that mattered.

She had made it out of the car. She had made it into the apartment building. She had made it to the stairwell, then consequently up the stairs. She had made it down the hallway. To the apartment.

Her latest purpose in life: knock on the door.

She checked the number on the paper to the number on the door once more, just as Luke had done weeks before. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and knocked on the door.

Forcefully.

Three times.

There was no way he couldn't have heard that. There was no turning back now.

And before she could blink once more, there he was.

Less than three feet away from her now.

She had made it!

The look on his face was one of total amazement.

His hair was shorter again. It didn't seem to be as 'gelled-up' as it used to be though. It was more unruly. He hadn't shaved in a few days either. She briefly wondered if it was because he didn't have the time, or if he simply no longer cared.

It didn't really matter.

He looked amazing.

But she couldn't say that. She couldn't say anything.

So he spoke first.

"Holy shit."

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Notes: So. How was that? I know, not near enough Jess, but the big conversation will be next. And that should be out sooner than this chapter. Please review. _Please_. Especially since I've been traumatized. I need to know if this turned out any good...I had to do it from memory! Pity me people. And then review.


	5. Four: Grand Canyons and Burning Bridges

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Title: These Perfect Moments

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_.

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Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

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Notes: In case you didn't already notice, I changed the title. I never liked the first one, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time.

Thanks for all the reviews!!!!!!

Sorry this one took longer to get out - this was an **extremely** difficult chapter to write. I hope it turned out alright.

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Chapter Four: Grand Canyons and Burning Bridges

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He looked amazing.

But she couldn't say that. She couldn't say anything.

So he spoke first.

"Holy shit."

..........

His outburst caught them both off guard. But, Christ, it was Rory. _Rory. _Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_. Yet, here she was. And it was real. _She_ was real.

It only took him a moment to compose himself, then he tried again.

"Hey." Much better.

"Hi," she said timidly, almost shyly. She took this opportunity to give the carpet a closer inspection. Was that gum? She hoped to god it was.

"So, um. Hi." His words failed him once again. He couldn't think of what to say, or how to act. Hell, he couldn't think at all. Should he invite her in? Brush her off? After all, that's what she had done to him. But she was here. _She_ was _here_. That had to mean something. Okay, so he wouldn't brush her He ran his hair through his hair - nervous impulse - and looked at the ground. Was that gum?

She just stood there. Awkward. Dumbfounded. He was _there_. Right in front of her. She had spent so much time focusing on getting _here_ that she hadn't put any thought into what she would say once she actually got _here_. She watched as she ran his hand through his hair and shifted his gaze to the ground. So he was nervous too, huh? Well, that made her feel a little better.

"Uh, you could come in, if you want," he tried, gesturing inside the apartment.

"That would be nice. Thanks," she nodded, keeping her eyes focused on the stain. Maybe it wasn't gum after all. She resisted the urge to poke it with the toe of her shoe, not only because it would be obvious, but also because she was afraid it would take on a life of it's own. Expanding, like The Blob, ready to devour them all. She fleetingly wondered if Jess had a fire extinguisher. Probably not.

He stepped aside and held the door open for her - a slightly chivalrous gesture that she wasn't used to. The apartment was small and...dingy. There was about four mattresses strewn across what she assumed was the 'living room' floor, and clothes were littered everywhere. What she could see of the kitchen area wasn't much better; sink and counter covering in plates and cups and...food.

He noticed the change in her face as she surveyed the area, and immediately kicked himself for not at least picking up, and instead sleeping in today.

"Sorry about the mess...I wasn't exactly expecting company."

"It's fine. It's...nice." She looked around the small space again, worried about cockroaches, or rats, or god knows what.

"It's crap. But thanks for lying."

"So, which one is your corner?"

"That one, over there." He motioned to the one occupied with books, of course.

"Are your roommates home?"

"Nope."

"Oh." It was an indifferent _oh_, and he knew she was stalling. Not that he could blame her, for he was doing the same.

"So, you want something to drink?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine."

She looked up now. Not at him, but at least she had torn her gaze away from the floor. It was a start.

"You want to sit then?" He gestured towards a set of lawn chairs surrounding a poker table. Makeshift dining room, she supposed.

"I'll stand."

"Planning on sprinting out of here?"

He immediately bit his tongue, wishing he could swallow his words. _Stupid, Mariano. Very stupid_. She was here, after all. This was not the time for lame jokes.

It didn't seem to phase her though. She answered with a quiet, "Maybe" that surprised him.

The next thing she did, however, startled both of them. She took a few steps forward, bridging the canyon of a gap that had formed between them in the past year. And before either of them knew what was going on, she kissed him. Full on the mouth. A deep, desperate kiss. His arms instinctively snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer, terrified that she was going to disappear out that door, out of his life, yet again. It didn't matter. Even if she did, he wanted to savor this moment. The feel of her lips on his. Of her body against his. Of her arms around him.

And, for a moment, the past year vanished. For a moment, everything between them was perfect. Everything in the world was perfect.

And again, the earth stopped turning.

But only for a moment.

They broke away, both taken aback by what she had just done. He looked at her, learning and re-learning every curve of her face. Her eyes were still closed. Whether she was reliving or regretting the moment, he wasn't sure.

"Are you going to run?" He leaned in, close to her ear, his lips brushing against her neck.

She pulled out of his grasp, and he suddenly feared that that's exactly what she was going to do. But instead of rushing towards the door, she simply took a few steps back, reopening the canyon, burning the bridge that had just been built. She was looking down again. All progress has digressed.

"Why are you here, Rory?" The question formed on his lips before he had a thought to stop them. The words came out quickly, abrasive. More abrasive than he'd intended.

"I came to see you," she faltered. "I wanted to see you."

"Really? 'Cause the last time we talked, you were pretty adamant that you didn't." He knew he sounded angry, but he wasn't sure why. He wasn't angry. Confused as hell, yes, but not angry.

"Jess, I....you took me by surprise." She took a deep breath, searching for the words. She knew what she needed to say - what she wanted to say - but she couldn't for the life of her figure out how. "And....and I couldn't leave just then."

"Why? Did you have to consult it with Mommy Dearest first?" That came out harsher than he'd anticipated. He didn't mean for it to. It just kind of spilled out. Sure, he may have thought it, but he didn't want to say it. Not to her. Not when _they_ were this fragile. Not when he wasn't even sure they were a _they_.

"She doesn't know I'm here." No sharp come back? No angry outburst? A calm reply was not what he was expecting.

"Oh," he offered, not sure of what direction to take the conversation.

Luckily, she opted to continue, "No one does, actually. Well, Luke, I guess. But that's only because I had to go to him to get your address. I hope you don't mind that he gave it to me."

He felt a little better. At least now she seemed to be reverting back into Typical Rory. Rambling out of anxiety. Fearing that someone, god forbid, would be upset with her. "No, it's fine."

"Look, Jess, I have a lot to tell you. And you probably aren't going to want to hear a lot of it, but could you just listen. Please." She looked at him now. Well, most likely at some point past his head, but it was progress, yet again.

He nodded, "Okay."

"I want to be with you. I really do. Here, in New York. It just took me a little longer to realize it," she paused. "I love you, Jess. And I hope that that feeling is still reciprocated."

He exhaled, suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath. Then a smirk - no, a smile - spread across his face. "Yes, that feeling is still reciprocated."

She was still watching him intently, and he knew that she wanted more. That she needed to be absolutely sure. So he ventured on, back into uncharted territory. "What I mean is, I love you. Still. And, I want to be with you too."

She nodded. He still cared. That order of business was complete. Check it off the list. Move down to step two.

"That's good." She felt tears welling up in her eyes, dreading what had to be said next.

"Rory-" he noticed the change in her eyes, saw them cloud over with tears, but she cut him off.

"There's more. More that I need to tell you. Okay?" Her voice cracked on the last syllable, and he was suddenly very frightened. He nodded, not sure that he could trust his voice at the moment.

She started wringing her hands nervously, and had to push back the urge to start pacing the floor. Maybe they should have sat down after all. "I did something really, really stupid. But you have to understand that that's not why I'm here."  
  
Again he nodded, the slight fear rising in his chest, "Fine."

"And you also have to know that it meant nothing. Nothing at all. The only reason I'm telling you is because...well, you should know."

The fear grew, expanding from his chest to his throat. "What is it?"

"I slept with someone." She said is slowly, making sure to enunciate every word, wanting him to grasp it the first time for fear she'd have to repeat the phrase. She didn't want to have to say it again. And she knew by the immediate change in his eyes that he didn't want to have to hear it again.  
  
"Oh," he began, the words hitting him so hard, he was amazed he didn't physically stumble. "I'm not sure how that's my business-" 

"It was Dean."

Silence. Complete, utter, clock-ticking, pin-dropping silence. Then he...chuckled? Yes, he was. A deep, throaty, bitter laugh.

"Of course it was."  
  
She felt like she had been slapped across the face. She also felt like she deserved it. 

"What's that suppose to mean?"  
  
He shook his head, looking away from her. "It's always Dean, Rory."

Another slap, harder, across the other cheek. She actually reached up, sure that she would feel a bruise forming. But there was nothing there except for the tears streaming down her cheeks. She hadn't even realized she had been crying. She wondered when she started.

He saw the tears begin to spill over as she flinched, reaching up to touch her cheek. He had made her cry. He had stooped as low as he possibly could. Sure, she might have cried over him before, after he left her last May, perhaps. But he never let himself believe he meant that much to her. And he'd never actually witnessed the tears stain her porcelain skin. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He wondered if he flinched too.

He wanted to apologize. But she found her voice first.

"Aren't I allowed to make mistakes? Or does that rule only apply to you?" She spatout the words, visions of their past years together racing through her mind.

"Excuse me?" He was caught of guard, yet again. Wasn't he just about to apologize?

She went on, gaining momentum, "What? So it's okay for you to show up on my doorstep and expect me to take you back, but when it's my turn to beg forgiveness, you just kick me out on my ass?"

"Hey, you kicked me out on my ass first, alright? And, if I may say so, this is a pretty big mistake Rory!"

They were both yelling now as tempers flared, each getting angrier by the second.

"So, you're going to be pissed off because I didn't save myself for you? Or is it just because it was with him?"

"Do you honestly think this has to do with the sex? God, you're so conceited sometimes."

"How so?" She was livid. How could he say that?

He gestured wildly, fuming, letting the facts of the past few moments sink in. "You aren't running _to_ me, Rory. You aren't here because you think you made a mistake with me, or because you miss me, or because you love me. You're here because you had nowhere else to go. You're running from him."

"That's not true!" She bellowed, desperate, not even attempting to get the conversation back on course.

"Think about it. Whenever things were fucked with us, you ran to him."

"Yeah, and who's fault was that?" she interjected, suddenly regretting her decision to come here.

"Now that things are fucked with him, you're running to me."

"It's not like that."

His tone was irate, "Yes it is Rory. You've been playing head games with both of us from the start. You can't just make a decision. You overanalyze everything. You don't trust anyone, including yourself."

"It's not that I don't trust anyone Jess. It's that I could never trust you."

They fell back into silence, both of them running out of steam. He was tired. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be easy - that he knew - but it wasn't supposed to be like _this_.

She was still crying. God, he didn't want her to be crying. He took a step forward, gently placing his palms on either side of her face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. She didn't pull away this time. Instead she relaxed in his hands, her voice coming out as a whisper.

"You're wrong about the other stuff. I've changed too. I made my own decision to come here. To tell you this. And I had plenty of time to analyze it, and to overanalyze it, and I had plenty of chances to turn back. But I didn't."

She placed her hands on top of his now, afraid he would pull back or take off. Funny how roles can change through the course of a few minutes.

"Why did you come here?" he asked again, just as quietly.

"I already told you-" she began, but he shook his head.

"No, you didn't. I mean, you sleep with some other guy, and then you show up on my doorstep. Why? Why me? Why now?" He said it gently, not resentful, not sarcastic.

Even so, she didn't like it. Immediately she pulled back and threw her hands in the air.

"It should have been you, damn it! Don't you get it? _That's_ why I'm here!"

Another silence.

Another moment.

"What?" He spoke softy, trying to absorb what she had just revealed.

Feeling the need to explain her actions, to him and to herself, she began relaying the torrid story.

"I...I didn't sleep with Dean because he was Dean, or because I was in love with him. I was...it's been a bad year, and I was lonely, and he was just there. And this past week, I couldn't even think about him, or how he was married, or how disappointed my mother was. All I could think about was how it _shouldn't_ have been him. How I did this for all the wrong reasons. All I could think about was you, and how much I missed you, and I was so disgusted with myself. Because I don't do this. I wouldn't sleep with my _boyfriend_, whom I'd been dating for months and whom I was in love with, but I hopped in bed with some married guy who I have absolutely no feelings for whatsoever."

"I highly doubt you hopped."

His comment didn't affect her as she continued, "God, it was the first major decision I had ever made by myself, and it was the completely wrong one. This is the second," she gestured to the apartment, "so no wonder it's turning into a disaster."

"I'm not mad at you for sleeping with him." He said it suddenly, feeling it had to be out there in the open.

"Yes you are."  
  
"I'm not." He took another moment before continuing, "But can't you kind of see why I'm questioning your motives here? You felt guilty, and you needed somewhere to go, and we have a history-"

"No. No, that's not it."

There was determination in her voice, but he still wasn't sure.

"Are you trying to convince me or you?" His tone was still soft, softer than she'd ever heard it.

"Do you have any idea how much I've missed you this past year? Any at all?"

A new batch of tears began to flow.

He looked away.

"Lorelai made it pretty clear that you were over me."

"That's what I told her. That's what I told myself. I really tried to believe it."

"Then what? What woke you up?"

"Then you came back. I saw you. And you said that you loved me- Jess, I had that swimming around in my head for weeks. And then you came back again..."

She took a tentative step forward.

"I couldn't go with you then. _I_ wasn't ready then." She wrapped her arms around her torso, suddenly remembering the way it felt when he was holding her minutes before, suddenly cold. "The point is, you'd been on my mind for months before the whole...Dean thing. I'm not just here because of what happened. I definitely woke me up, yes, but I'm not...I....you aren't believing a word of this, are you."

"I want to."

His gaze pierced hers, looking for any inkling of honesty, of truth.

"I love you." She choked out the words, trying to suppress a sob, not wanting to become a blubbering mess.

He nodded, "You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

She smiled.

He believed her.

He took a step forward, taking her hands in his, letting them stay limply at their sides, reveling in the fact that, yes, she was real and, yes, she loves him.

Again, the canyon began to close. A new bridge was built.

Sure, it was shaky at best, but at least it was there.

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Notes: This one was all Lit, for your reading pleasure. The next one will drift between New York and Stars Hollow again. We must be kept abreast as to what is going on there too...

I hope you liked this chapter. It was exceptionally hard to write, so I hope you all liked it. Please review to tell me how I did. Again, I've never written anything like this before, so tips and suggestions and comments are greatly appreciated! Thanks!

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-In the movie, The Blob, the only way for them to stop it is to freeze it, which is where a good ol' fire extinguisher comes in. Hence the reference.

- My other fic "HTSSTLATD" has not been abandoned! It's on the back burner at the moment. I just really need to get this one off my chest first, I think.

- Do you like the new title? I'm curious 'bout your opinion on that too!


	6. Five: Current Events

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Title: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_.

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Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

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Notes: Wow, it's been a while. Let's just say that school, computer problems, and horrible, evil writer's block slowed me down a bit. With that being said...

Thanks for all the reviews!!!! The last chapter was hard, but I'm glad you seemed to think it was okay. Special thanks to **Jayde **(you're always the first to review), **enigmatic darling** (you're so encouraging), **Jewls13** (I'm glad your reading this; your opinion means so much to me), and **Stew Pid** (you're a great friend and a constant support).

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Smile1, I like what you said about the title! I'm still not sure if you meant it offensively or not, but it made me laugh..."on the other hand, it's cliche and melodramatic"...it _is_, but I had a hell of a time coming up with anything. Which is why I would like to, again, thank the lovely **Stew Pid** for supplying the current (and hopefully final) title.

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Chapter Five: Current Events

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It was early. There wasn't a clock in her view, but the sunlight had begun to make is way across the floor, creeping through the thin curtains in slits.

Three days.

It had been less than three days since she left. Since she first saw him. Since they talked. Since they got here.

It seemed like forever ago.

They had opted on splurging a bit on a motel rather than attempt to room in his apartment with three other guys. Jess packed what little he had accumulated in the past several months and left a note saying he wouldn't be returning.

And that was it.

It didn't take them long to find a relatively cheap place to stay, and Jess paid for the week. Beyond that, no talk of the future had taken place. But she didn't mind. This was the new super spontaneous Rory. Not worrying about tomorrow. Living in the moment.

She still hadn't called Lorelai. She told herself it was because she had just gotten to New York. That she needed to figure things out with Jess first, so she could at least outline a rational plan to her most likely irrational mother.

It was more than that though. She didn't know what to say to her. She didn't want to fight with her. She didn't want to deal with her. But mostly, she was afraid Lorelai would try to convince her to come back. She was afraid she would succeed.

So, until she and Jess had talked, until they had decided on a plan of action, until she was secure with her decision, Lorelai would have to wait.

Which brought up another problem: talking with Jess. Once they talked, once they planned, once they got a place, once they truly began to try this, it would suddenly become _real_. And if it was real, then she could get hurt. Again. If it was real, he could leave her. Again.

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Real scared her.

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It was early. Too early. He rolled over in an attempt to get comfortable enough to doze back off. Instead, he felt himself being watched. He paused, then opened one eye. A pair of blue ones were staring back. A smile formed on his lips as he pulled her closer.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked groggily.

"Watching you," her voice was quiet, still heavy with sleep. She must not have been awake long.

"Why?" He opened both eyes now, his brow furrowing in confusion. He watched as she shifted her gaze from his.

"Good morning," she was fully awake now, the illusion of the early morning now shaken from her senses.

Instead of repeating his question as a light pink flush rose in her cheeks, just like he knew it would, he left it hanging in the air, neither knowing the answer.

"Morning."

He watched her roll on her back, staring at the ceiling and fiddling with the sheet. He could tell she wanted to say something, her eyes clouding over, her forehead crinkling in deep thought. Trying to decide how to broach the subject, no doubt.

It had only been three days since they wordlessly left his apartment and tracked down the hotel. He had originally asking the manager for a room with two beds, not sure of how comfortable Rory would be with the situation. Surprisingly, she corrected him, politely saying one bed would be fine. Upon his questioning look, she backtracked, saying that a room with two beds would be more expensive, and they should be saving their money. He silently thanked Rational Rory for making an appearance.

He then responded with a smirk that made her blush.

Things were slightly awkward at first, the last year weighing down heavily on both of their minds. Instead of diving right into the inevitable discussion, however, they chose to ignore it, a silent agreement made by both parties. Instead, the spent their first days back together treading lightly, bringing up only carefully calculated subjects, such as their latest book preferences and the weather. Staying on _current_ events was the key.

And so far, current events had worked well for them. They quickly fell back into the easy banter and mindless kissing that had highlighted their high school romance. It seemed simple to fall into a groove, finding their niche in a parallel universe between the rocky terrain of their past and the uncertainty of their future.

Now, with the vestiges of sleep still weighing heavily on both of them, the look in her eyes told him that that unspoken agreement crumbled. The only question was who would break the suffocating silence.

"We should talk."

His words surprised her. Rory rolled over, facing him again.

"We should?" she asked incredulously.

"Don't you think we should?"

"Yes. I guess I just thought I would have to be the one to bring it up. You've never been the most talkative person in the world, especially when it comes to...well, anything really."

"We're going to need to have a plan or something, assuming you want to stay."

"I do."

"And I'm sure you have plenty of questions for me."

She nodded.

"So, we should get this out in the open."

"Why didn't you stay in California?" The question just...appeared in her mind and before she could even process it, it was tumbling from her lips.

Her tone wasn't harsh - it was soft, delicate.

He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he considered his answer. Rory crawled over the bed and moved up across from him, straightening her t-shirt while Jess sat in thought.

"The only reason I went over there was because I had nowhere else to go."

Rory opened her mouth to counter, but Jess beat her to the punch, "I _thought_ I had nowhere else to go. So, I stayed there for the summer, but it just didn't work."

"Why?" The question was a tentative one, and she could tell he was reluctant to answer.

"Jimmy already had his little family unit all squared away, and I didn't fit. So, I took the money I saved, came back over here, and set up in New York."

"Oh."

"I didn't leave because I didn't care about you Rory."

"I just wish you would have talked to me."

"It probably would have made things easier, huh?" He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes on her.

"Yeah," she nodded slowly, bringing her gaze up to meet his.

"So, are you serious about wanting to stay. In New York. With me."

"That is why I'm here," she nodded, still slightly unsure of herself, slightly unsure of him.

"We should probably look for a place then, huh?"

All of her uncertainties vanished, just like that. Hearing those simple words, so sincere, drove away any doubts she had.

She felt the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, but instead of stifling it, she sat there, grinning like an idiot, nodding furiously.

-----------------------------------------

They spent the rest of the morning finally tackling that unnamed demon, ushering him out of their living space for good. Only leaving the bed to refill the red ceramic mug with the bitter tasting generic hotel coffee (even worse than _Doose's Brand Decaf!_, but good enough to curb the slight shakes from caffeine withdrawal), they tested the unsure waters of the past year, each relaying their own stories back and forth of loneliness and tears, of accomplishments and disappointments.

Rory told of her first year at Yale, of the naked guy, of the insanity of actually having to live with Paris, but also of the strange calmness and familiarity that occasionally ensued between the two. She told of the late night studying sessions, of the stress felt during that first poly-sci test. She told him of her American Lit class and her professor who had read every book known to man and who she swore up and down was at least 105 years old (a notion he deemed as foolish, to which she wholeheartedly agreed, but held true to her convictions nonetheless). She told him of Lane's fallout with her mother and her brief stint in the dorm, and then of her tiny house in Stars Hollow with the band, a house with only one bedroom and a stove with only one working burner, but a house that Lane loved more than anything. She even went as far as to bringing her mother into the scenario, recounting the chaos surrounding the inn, leaving out any and all details of the opening, a night she wasn't ready to relive again.

Jess' tales were fewer and he told them with indifference, a sharp contrast to the way her face lit up with delight, or how her words ran together as she spoke faster and faster until she was almost out of breath, her tongue working in a furious race with her brain, never able to get the words out fast enough. Finally relenting, her brain slowed and she stayed perched at attention, a signal that it was now his turn.

Silence briefly fell over the room as he took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling worn out just from listening, almost as if he had just run the 5K, not her. She, however, still held a look of excitement and intrigue, her sapphire eyes growing larger as she patiently waited for him to speak.

And so, as to not disappoint her, he reluctantly divulged sparse details of California, stories more of Lily than of anything or anyone else. He continued, opening up more than she expected him to, by telling her how, although he and Jimmy got along, he felt he had overstayed his welcome and was on a Greyhound to New York by the end of summer. They still kept in contact, talking about once a month more out of obligation than anything else. Most of the time Lily interrupted the conversation, and Jess would end up saying goodbye to her rather than his father, not that he minded. It saved them both from awkward small talk that neither one was sure they could take. Upon arriving in New York, he worked at a white-shirt-black-pants-tie-not-so-optional restaurant that he absolutely hated and was subsequently fired from just after his second week of employment. Apparently taking a ten minute snack break and turning it into a lunch _hour_ was looked down upon in the culinary business. He had been working as a messenger ever since; he described it as "something I don't completely detest."

It was about this time that, coincidentally, Jess' cell phone rang with an angry message from his boss about not showing up for said job. Jess erupted into a fit of coughs, arguing that he had caught the flu, was on his deathbed and needed the rest of the week off. After his boss threatened to fire him, Jess, in a raspy voice, argued that he had yet to miss a day of work in almost one year and that he would be back by Monday. Without waiting for a reply, he hung up and it was then that he noticed Rory's face, one of shock and amusement, all because of the fact that he, Jess Mariano, the king of irresponsibility, owned a cell phone.

The mocking commenced for the duration of the day. It was well into the evening and several Chinese take-out boxes later before they even remembered apartment hunting, and vowed to begin bright and early the next day.

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Notes: This was originally going to be much longer with glimpses at Stars Hollow as well, but the rest of it just isn't coming to me....so, I figured I just might as well cut it up into two chapters rather than make you wait for three, four, five more months (oops again!). Hopefully the next chapter will come to me quicker this time, but I can't make any promises.

If anyone has any questions, comments, suggestions, or even flames, please don't be too shy to let me know!!! So drop me a line people. One word reviews are great too just write 'good' or 'bad'...I'm not picky. 0.o


	7. Six: A Town Consensus of Sorts

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Title: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

**__**

Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_.

**__**

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

**__**

Notes: Wow. It's been a while. I have no idea why this chapter gave me so much trouble. I've been working on it for months, but let me tell you, when I sat down today, it just flooded out. I hope everyone likes it!

**__**

Chapter Six: A Town Consensus of Sorts

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News of Rory's affair with Dean and her subsequent departure spread through the town faster than any other piece of gossip in Stars Hollow history.

Faster than when Trevor Stevens hooked up with his deceased wife's sister. Faster than when June Pratt married her second cousin. Faster than when Michael Fullmer had a sex change operation, became _Michelle_, and moved to Jersey.

Not to mention the fact that this, by far, was considered to be the juiciest.

The town princess had leapt off the pedestal that had been graciously given to her and chucked it back in the faces of her beloved townspeople. It was outrageous! Ungrateful! Yet, so very intriguing.

Everyone had their own theory as to why she did it. The town buzzed day and night, friends and enemies meeting at corner stores to discuss these theories, to share information. Phones rang late into the night telling of new developments, new connections. Remember when _he_ showed up here a couple weeks back? Didn't they have a conversation in the street? Did anyone hear what was said? And where had Dean disappeared to? Lindsay was gone too; definitely peculiar. And, of course, everyone had compiled their own list of answers; a town consensus of sorts.

Yes, _he_ did in fact show up a few weeks back, apparently to pick up his car. "But why after all this time?" Babette questioned. "A piss poor story if I've ever heard one." No doubt he was here to see her.

Yes, they did have some sort of confrontation in the street. No one to date knows what was said, but it appeared that Rory did the majority of the talking; hopefully tearing into him about leaving her all alone, only to show up again and send her life spiraling out of control. "It was about time that girl let off some steam," Miss Patty speculated. "Keeping it bottled up after all that time must have been killing her. I'd seen it in her eyes. Hadn't you seen it in her eyes? It was there all along, but I didn't want to pull the girl into a conversation she wasn't ready for..."

And yes, Dean _and_ Lindsay had disappeared. Where to? And undisclosed location. But it was obvious that she had heard of the affair, slaughtered him in a fit of rage, dumped the body, and high-tailed it to Canada. _Obviously_. "What other explanation could there be?" Andrew argued. Taylor called this accusation ludicrous, but even he was seen looking over his shoulder at night, no doubt watching out for the ax-wielding blonde. No one knew where she was, after all. "It's always the quiet ones," Joe concluded.

But, as to be expected, no one took the news harder than Lorelai Victoria Gilmore II, her counterpart and confidant disappearing from her life in what she described as "A poof of smoke without the smoke."

No one had seen her in days, a statement on her part that only fueled the rumor mill. Everyone had assumed she come out soon enough; "Leave her be. She needs time to process. To adjust," Gypsy reasoned.

Okay, let's face it. Gypsy doesn't reason. She orders in an intimidating tone.

Nonetheless, this secluded behavior had far surpassed the expectations of those around her. Babette had tried to invite her over for tea, but their was no answer when she called. Kirk tried to lure her out of the house with a heart shaped box of chocolates, but not even that could stir her from her hibernation. And when a Gilmore refuses any type of sugar for any reason, something is terribly wrong. Even Emily Gilmore would scale the tallest mountain for the perfect piece of chocolate. She'd do it with an entire team of guides pulling her to the summit whilst she lounged on the padded bench of a carriage, but the humidity at that height would wreak havoc on her hair (and split ends are nobody's friend).

The point is, the kind patrons were getting incredibly worried. Yes, _worried_. Not gossip starved. Not at all. And, as that one dude once said, "Drastic times call for drastic measures."

Which is why Sookie was shifting from foot to foot on the weathered porch trying to figure out how she had gotten herself into this.

__

"Sookie, Lorelai needs you. This town _needs you." Taylor waved his arms frantically, counting out each point one by one. She had never noticed how well manicured his fingernails were before. Odd._

"She hasn't been outside for days, which means she probably hasn't been eating."

Point one.

"She has undoubtedly parked her hind end in front of the television watching that godforsaken 'OC' or 'Iguana Beach'"

Isn't it 'Laguna Beach'? How would Taylor_ know about 'Laguna Beach'? Oops, that was point two._

"She needs a friend right now, Sookie. She won't respond to Babette, and Kirk is beginning to go to extreme measures. Stalker-like _measures, which means that he'll end up getting hurt in one way or another. I swear to god, if he doesn't stay out of that tree, he's going to loose a limb."_

Is that supposed to be point three?

"You're our best bet right now. Just try to talk to her. Make sure she's alive, for crying out loud. And then report back here of course." Taylor concluded with a flourish, of course, his hands resting on his hips in a very David Caruso-esque manner.

"Wait, Taylor, you lost me. Is this about Lorelai or Kirk?"

He sighed in an exasperated manner, "Sookie." The name was drawn out and impatient. He wanted an answer.

"Look, I just don't know if it's such a good idea. Lor'll come out when she's ready, just wait." Sookie patted him assuredly on the arm. Taylor's gaze didn't waver.

Oh, right. Taylor Doose is a very scary man.

Then again, so is Lorelai Gilmore. Or, woman. Whatever.

It's not that Sookie wasn't concerned. Oh, no. She had tried to get in touch with Lorelai. But if Lorelai didn't want to talk, Lorelai _did not_ talk. Sookie had known her long enough to realize that the girl would need space.

Still, it might not hurt if she peeked in. For just a few minutes.

Bypassing the doorbell (that hadn't gotten any of the previous visitors anywhere), she tried the doorknob, not surprised to find it unlocked.

She felt as if she was Neil Armstrong taking those first steps on the moon, discovering a place no one had ever seen before - or, at least, not for a while. Upon closer inspection, however, the house looked relatively the same. Except for the unassuming lump on the couch.

"Go away."

Behold! The lump speaks!

Sookie closed the door behind her, letting the lock click into place before approaching the living room.

"Lorelai, it's me. You, ah, haven't been to the inn in a few days, which it weird, 'cause you're kind of the co-owner and all."

The lump spoke again, "There's been a tragedy. A death in the family. I need eight weeks off."

"That's sad and all, but I need you there." Sookie gradually got closer to the couch, finally sitting tentatively next to the mass of blankets and Cheeto bags.

__

'At least we know she didn't starve.'

"Everybody's talking. I know they are. Hell, after my scene in the diner, I'd be talking about me." Something shifted, and a bag of Red Vines fell away, revealing a clump of dark brown hair, unkempt and untamed in wild curl and frizz.

"That was a very egotistical sentence," Sookie tried, nudging the cushion that had become her best friend. When Lorelai didn't reply, Sookie spoke again, "Oh, sweetie. Are you ready to talk about it?"

This offer elicited more movement from the blob, and Lorelai's head finally emerged from the cocoon, hair wildly piled on top of her head, face free of makeup, eyes tired, cheeks puffy.

"Does everyone know?" Her eyes were downcast, lips set in a thin line, already knowing the answer.

Sookie nodded reluctantly. "But forget about that. How are you?"

"How am I? How am_ I_?I...I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think. Well, I can eat, and of course I can sleep, but I really can't think! I can't concentrate on anything for more than five minutes before my thoughts drift to her. Is she okay? Did she make it there? Is her body lying in a ditch somewhere? And if it isn't, is she with Jess? Are they still in New York? They could be in Istanbul by now! Or is it Constantinople? God, how does that song go?"

"I highly doubt they've made it that far," she reasoned.

"I can't even get off this couch, Sook. I have no motivation. I'm sitting here, watching a _Touched by an Angel_ Marathon on USA Network!"

Sookie looked towards the TV. "Why?"

"Aren't you listening? No motivation!" She gestured to the heap surrounding her.

"What does having no motivation have to do with _Touched by an Angel_?"

"I'm watching _Touched by an Angel_ because the remote is all the way over there!" Lorelai groaned as she pointed to the end table next to the chair. Sookie sighed and reached for the remote.

"Okay, sweetie. It's time for an intervention." She clicked the power button. "There. No more _Touched by an Angel_. See; that wasn't so bad, was it."

Lorelai whimpered an buried her head underneath the covers. Sookie gently rubbed her back as a muffled voice drifted up through the afghan.

"Forget Rory; I'm still trying to get over that it was with Dean. _Married_ Dean. I always worried about Jess. Come on, Dean's a respectable guy. He says please and thank you. And when he bags your groceries, he always puts the bread on top."

"Honey, you never buy bread."

"I did once."

"She'll call, Lorelai."

"What if she doesn't? Or what if she does, but I'm not here, and she doesn't leave a message, or-"

Sookie interjected, "Are you going to live as a recluse for the rest of your life?"

"But if I miss her call-"

"Then she'll leave a message. Or she'll call again."

"What if she doesn't do either. Then what?"

Sookie didn't have an answer.

-----------------------------------------

In less than a week, her life had changed in more ways than she ever could have imagined. She was not only living on her own, but she was living with a boy. A trivial fact to some, but this was a huge step for a girl of her disposition. She had walked out on everything and everyone she had ever known and loved. And, god, was it liberating. For the first time in her life, Rory Gilmore was not second guessing herself. She was confident in her decision, confident in her future. She felt like she could take on the world.

Things had been great the last few days. Jess took time off of work, and they immediately began apartment hunting. There was no rush, no hurried actions, just lazy days wandering the city, enjoying each other's company, looking at a few places here and there.

The one they chose was found by sheer luck - or fate, depending who is asked. The events leading up to the huge find were simple, really. The two, after just concluding lunch at small bistro, reached the end of a block. In order to liven things up, Jess merely asked Rory, "Left or right."

A smile danced on her lips as her eyes sparkled, eyeing each direction, silently contemplating the options. Finally, she let out a groan.

"Do I have to choose? I want to go everywhere. This is too much pressure." She looked up at him with the most serious face she could muster, noticing a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Sorry Gilmore. This is the end of the line. Only you can choose."

She put on a face of mock surprise, the carefully began contemplating the options once more. Jess let out and exaggerated sigh; in reply, she reached back and hit his arm.

"Left or right, huh?" she mused again.

"Don't make me start humming the Jeopardy theme music," he poked her side in exchange for a squeak.

"You wouldn't."

"I'm not above it."

Her eyes were wide; his were daring.

Rory took one last look at the intersection before nodding her head.

"I choose in between."

"There are no in betweens in life, Ror." His face was serious, but his eyes were smiling.

"Well, there is this time."

With that, she interlaced her fingers with his and pulled his across the street, not left or right, but into the in between known to most as Bleecker Street. It held a few of the regular, non-descript apartment buildings found all over Greenwich Village; weathered from decades of abuse, natural and otherwise, but strong and comforting from decades of stories, of history.

This particular building was seven stories, with vacancies on both the third and fifth floor. The owner was a graying woman in her early sixties with long, wavy hair and a brightly colored, billowy print dress. After Jess explained the type of cash range they were looking for, Laura, as they learned she was named, ushered them up to the apartment on the fifth floor. She was extremely kind as she showed the couple around, going on and on about the great atmosphere of the block and all of the sights near by. "This is the Bohemian capital of the world!" she exclaimed triumphantly. Never had Rory seen a such a truer hippie, and this woman was in her element.

The apartment - 503 - was small, but very well kept. Upon entering, it had a living room that, toward the left, faded into the kitchen. On the same side was a short hallway, if it could even be called that, that gave way to two doors on either side; the bedroom and the bathroom. There were three stools underneath the countertop and a coffee table left behind by the previous tenants.

A window in the living room let in the outside world, Bleecker street proudly staring you in the face. Laura said that every night one of the tenants from the second floor would go out on the sidewalk and play his violin from about seven to eight. This apartment would allow them a front row seat. Rory, of course, was more interested in this than Jess was. However, the apartment was perfect, the landlord polite, and the price relatively reasonable.

They signed the initial one month lease that day and began moving in the day after. Laura wasn't one for paper-work or first and last month's rent. She collected a $300 damage deposit and was fairly lax on everything else.

"She sells beaded jewelry in a shop down the street. Isn't that cool?" Rory had gushed. Jess shook his head but smirked anyway. Her excitement was starting to rub off on him.

That moment of adrenaline passed, however, and two days later she found herself sitting alone in the bare living room of _their _new apartment, as all of her initial fears and doubts creeping back in.

She had no idea what she was doing. She wasn't used to this responsibility, these choices. Her life before had been simple. Light vs. dark. Good vs. Evil. (Dean vs. Tristin, respectively). She painted herself into a world of yes and no, of right and wrong.

Jess was the first shade of gray that had entered her life. And it still scared her. She had been snugly nudged into the comfortable predictability promised by this black and white existence.

Now, she was in this in between apartment with this gray boy, and she had no clue where to go from here.

What she didn't know was that Jess felt the same way. He had led a black and white existence before her as well. To him, though, she was Technicolor. And it was terrifying.

She was still sitting on the floor when he got home. She looked up at him with ocean eyes, and he wondered if she had been crying or if she was about to. Not knowing what to say, he set his bag by the door and sat across from her, carefully taking her hands into his and tracing circles along her palms. She watched him as he watched their hands, almost afraid to meet her gaze. When he did, she knew it was going to be okay.

"We're ready for this," she said with conviction.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly before crawling closer until she was straddling him. It was then that he realized exactly what she meant.

Minutes later they reached the bedroom. He could barely make out her outline in the darkness, the only light coming from the dim streetlamp.

"Are you nervous?" he whispered against her neck.

"A little," she breathed.

"Yeah, me too."

Over the next few months, they had many encounters, and she took on many forms.

Sometimes she was saltwater, playful, tasting like the ocean, but with a slightly sweet tang tickling the back of his throat.

Other times she was freshwater; cleansing and pure, refreshing and perfect in ways he couldn't even imagine.

A few times, though, she was brackish, bitter and rusty, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth.

But that first encounter; it was freshwater and everything that goes along with it.

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It seems like things change.

But they don't.

The fact is, things don't really change at all. No matter how much time passes, when it gets down to it, things relatively stay the same. _People _relatively stay the same.

Does that mean he will hurt her again? Not necessarily. Because the thing is, he's always had good intentions.

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Notes: I'm not sure about the ending. Oy vey! PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!! You have no idea how much it would make my day!


	8. Seven: Beautiful Criers

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Title: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_.

**__**

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

**__**

Notes: Uh, hey there. Anyone remember me? 'Cause I remembered all of you! See! I updated for you and everything. Finally. I know, I know, I'm sorry! Please forgive me? And take this beautifully crafted chapter (yeah, right) as a token of my...sorrowful...ness. _Plus_ the fact that it's 3:26 in the morning...that's how sorrowful I am! I had to get this to you ASAP!

I know it's a pain, but you should probably skim over the last chappie so you know what's going on. :) This one doesn't have a lot of Lit in it (Sorry!); it's turned into a Lorelai-centric chapter, but it's necessary. Please read it anyway! Oh god, 50 people just hit the back button. Really...it's better than it sounds! I promise!

****

For all my new (and a few old) buddies at whose Lit talk and Dean bashing inspired me to finally update this mofo.

Onward...

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Chapter Seven: Beautiful Criers...

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It seems like things change.

But they don't.

The fact is, things don't really change at all. No matter how much time passes, when it gets down to it, things relatively stay the same. _People _relatively stay the same.

Does that mean he will hurt her again? Not necessarily. Because the thing is, he's always had good intentions.

o.o.o.o.o

It was something she wasn't quite used to yet. The lack of darkness. The sounds. The motion. Granted, they had only been in _their_ New York apartment for a week and a half; ten days to be exact. Or was it eleven? Truth be told, they had barely left bed, and with the curtains drawn, the hours seemed like minutes, the night ran into the day.

The situation still seemed so surreal to her. Her with him. Him with her. Hours spent reading, or talking. Or not. She used to hate the silence that surrounded him, the facade, the wall; the wall she had spent two years attempting to chisel through, not even breaking the surface. The wall that used to annoy her so. The wall that wasn't really there. No, not really.

He was an entity unto himself (he would say the same about her), and she had come to realize that the silence that shadowed him wasn't all that bad. It wasn't that he wasn't open, it wasn't that he was shutting her out (not all the time). Jess just wasn't a vocal person. It took a little more prodding, a little more observation to understand him, but he wasn't a completely closed book. The cover was just heavy, and it took a little more effort to pry it open. But just a little.

Maybe he _had_ changed; maybe it was her. Rory Gilmore wasn't perfect (obviously). She didn't have all the answers. Maybe she put too much pressure on him. She expected too much. All this time she thought about how he pushed her, when really she was the one pushing him.

Maybe it was timing. Timing can be the key to so many things.

Or was it a more divine shift? Maybe the stars were aligned; the universe in a kinder mood this time. There are so many factors, so many reasons. All she knew was that _she_ could handle this now.

And so she took comfort in the quiet...

...she really did. But, being a Gilmore, silence is a luxury that doesn't last for long.

She skimmed her fingertips along his shoulder lightly and sat up close to his ear.

"Jess."

Nothing. Not a flinch, or even a slight shift. He lay perfectly stoic, perfectly peaceful. So she 'nudged' a little harder this time.

"Jess."

His bare chest continued to rise and fall steadily. He could be so annoying sometimes. She wanted talk, damn it, and here he was, silent, as per usual. Granted, he was silent because he was sleeping, but there was a time when she would have thought he was doing it on purpose, just to be spiteful. She rolled her eyes absent mindedly.

He was never around when she needed him.

She smiled at the absurdity of her thought process, choosing to muse over other aspects of her new lover. Which reminded her...

"Jess. Are you awake?"

"Hmph," he groaned, burying his face into her shoulder, cursing her for disrupting his not-often-reached (until recently) state of REM sleep.

"I have a question for you." Her tone was almost giddy, glad that she had finally roused him, and Jess decided that her voice alone made her 'impeccable timing' well worth it.

He shifted to his back and opened one eye just a smidge, signaling that he was somewhat coherent. She rolled over onto her right side, propping herself up on her elbow as a rather large grin formed on her face. "What's with the emo hair?"

"Watch yourself, Gilmore." His eyes stayed closed but his response was immediate; he had been expecting this conversation.

"What? I'm serious. Is it like a rite of passage type thing?

"I can't believe you woke me up for _this_," he moaned, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Then he paused, registering her words, "Wait, a rite of passage?"

"Yeah. I mean, you've struck out on your own. You're your own boss. Damn the man," she grinned.

"I could always shave my head."

"No!" she backtracked, "I love your definitely not-so-emo-ish tresses."

He smirked and shifted on the squeaky mattress, leaving a memory of a kiss on her nose before wiping a few strands away from her face.

"What about your hair? Was this a mom-approved cut?"

She smiled in spite of herself, "Nope. I did this all on my own."

"Paving the way for further decisions?" he yawned.

"Perhaps." The smile that had been contagious just moments ago quickly vanished, and she lay with a pensive look on her face while studying the ceiling tiles.

"Have you called her?" He snaked his arm around her torso, pulling her closer, a gesture that she had never known before, yet that she had somehow missed at the same time.

"Not yet."

"You can, you know. I mean, I know you know that, but you should. Call her, that is." His tone was soft, and she buried her face further into his shoulder, breathing him in. She whispered something along the lines of maybe tomorrow, but her voice was muffled, and her tone, less than convincing.

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It took about a week and an entire year's supply of Red Vines for Lorelai to finally gather up the courage, let alone the energy, to leave the house. But it was Monday, the start of a new week, of a new summer, of a new phase. And Lorelai was trying to be optimistic. To be hopeful. The sun was shining, the temperature was perfect (not too cool to need a jacket, but not too warm to flush you cheeks); hell, even the birds were chirping in an attempt to cheer her up.

But, as optimistic as she tried to be, she still had the unshakable urge to crawl back up the stairs and curl up in her bed, never to face the world again. But, alas, life must go on, even if it seems ours has just ended.

So, Lorelai set her alarm Sunday night, and on Monday morning she went about her routine as if nothing had changed. Get up; take shower; get dressed; notice stain on blouse, thereby having to change _entire_ outfit; spend twenty minutes hobbling around house looking for other black pump; not finding it, then having to change once more because 'you can't _not_ wear black pumps with the black and grey halter dress;' realize you're running ten minutes late; rush out door in panic.

Except that she made her own coffee, rather than opting to go to Luke's. The two hadn't talked since she took up her hermit-esque existence, and she still didn't know how she felt about him, about what he did, about helping Rory take off.

Not to mention the fact that going anywhere within the town square would guarantee the instantaneous issuing of sorrowful looks, endless pats on the shoulder and the over-sympathetic question 'have you heard from her,' not because they care necessarily, but because they need something new to feed the gossip chain.

So, after finally deciding on a floral print dress, complete with light pink sling backs, Lorelai was out the door and back on her normal schedule. But what, or rather _who_, she found on her front porch with his hand poised to knock was not what she was expecting.

"Dean! Oh my god."

"Lorelai, hi." He put his knocking hand back in his pocket.

Her tone was incredulous, "Hi? Did you just say 'hi' to me?"

He sighed, figuring that he would have to endure a 'Lorelai Lecture,' something he was _not _in the mood for. "Look I know that you're probably upset-"

"Oh, you don't _know_ anything. Keep talking, Dean, and you'll see how 'probably upset' I can be." Her voice was steadily rising despite her best attempts at keeping her anger in check.

"Rory is an adult. I am an adult."

"On paper, perhaps, but I've yet to see any actions on either of your parts that support that."

"She can make her own decisions."

"Obviously, she needs a bit more practice."

"You can't keep me from seeing her."

"I can't? Try me," she countered, causing a short silence between the two. When Dean spoke, he sounded almost desperate.

"Just let me talk to her."

Lorelai unconsciously moved her frame against the door, then answered nonchalantly, "She's not here."

"Then I'll just wait."

"You do that."

He moved over to the porch swing, thinking this tactic would goad Lorelai into at least giving him a time-frame as to when Rory would be back. However, Lorelai's retreating back and the sound of the Jeep's engine weren't quite what he was expecting.

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The unpleasant confrontation with Dean sent Lorelai into a fuming mess as she barreled into the Inn's parking lot. It was only when she heard a few choice Spanish obscenities that she realized that, while in her blind rage, she had almost sent Eddie to meet his maker. Just because she was upset didn't mean she needed to _unintentionally_ take out her stable hand.

"Eddie, I am so sorry!" she offered, sincerely, as she closed the door to the Jeep.

"Ay, mujer loca! Bruha! Tratas de morteme." Obviously he was not in a forgiving mood today.

"Hey! I know what a couple of those words mean, mister." Eddie's face immediately fell. Lorelai smirked and continued, "That's right. After hearing 'em a couple of times, I bought me a fancy Spanish to English dictionary. And I am not a mujer - I am a _chica_."

"You run me over," his accent was heavy, a la Antonio Banderas, however his build was more...Danny DeVito.

"I _almost_ tapped you. Accidentally, I may add."

"You drive like mad woman!"

"I know. I'm sorry, okay," her tone was pleading. The last thing she needed was for the man who keeps the pretty horses _alive_ to quit.

He eyed her, realizing that maybe he could actually benefit from this. "I think I need rest of the day off," he questioned cautiously.

She rolled her eyes, "Of course. Go _recuperate_."

"And I want a raise," he added quickly.

"Don't push your luck, hombre."

She pushed past him, smiling cutely, and sauntered towards the inn.

Everything looked the same as it had a week ago. The guests that she passed seemed relatively content, which was usually a good sign. The flowers weren't dead. Nothing appeared to be leaking, or burning for that matter. Everyone seemed to have been doing their jobs, and she suddenly felt like she wasn't really needed. Seeing Michel and receiving only a glare as he purposefully walked away from her magnified that feeling, and it was then that she decided coffee was definitely in order.

"You got here safely! You're in one piece!" Sookie exclaimed as she enveloped Lorelai in a rib-shattering hug, all the while being careful not to transfer any chocolate from her hands to Lorelai's dress.

"I took the back roads," Lorelai managed to squeak out.

Sookie stepped back to look at her. "Back roads? What back roads? _Stars Hollow _is a back road."

"Well, after cutting through the woods there and forging the river, I guess you could say I made my own back road."

"Seriously, did you make it through the town alright?"

Lorelai eagerly excepted the coffee Sookie offered her. "I didn't stop anywhere, but I could definitely feel the winds shift as I drove past."

"The gossip mongers will get over this," Sookie waved her arms, as if dismissing the problem.

"Eventually," Lorelai scoffed.

"Come on. They've never held onto something longer than a week. Two, tops," she reasoned.

"This is different, Sook. This is big. Had it not happened to me, I'd probably be talking about it too."

Sookie nodded. "That seems to be the case with a lot of stuff."

Lorelai continued, "I still haven't heard from her. Its not like her not to call. I don't even know if she's alright."

Sookie moved closer to put a caring arm around her best friend, "She is. She just needs time."

"She could send me a postcard. 'Made it to Hell's Kitchen. Living above a biker bar. Really happy.'"

"Lorelai," she giggled wholeheartedly.

The brunette looked up at her confidant from her place on the stool. "A Post-It note would be nice."

"I know," Sookie agreed.

"I'm sorry. Listen to me. I've left you hanging for an entire week."

"Everything's been running smoothly. Well, except for..." she shook her head, "No, everything's been smooth."

"Really?" her voice was skeptical.

"Smooth as silk," Sookie unconvincingly offered.

"I don't believe you."

"We had a few...incidents. But everything's smooth now."

"Smooth as silk?" she offered skeptically.

Sookie paused. "More like corduroy. Just a little texture."

"Sookie."

She pointed at her with a spatula, "Don't worry about it."

"Uh, you guys?" The blond man in his late twenties leaned against the doorframe.

"Hey! How are you Steven!" Lorelai gushed.

"Good to see you back, Lorelai. So, I just saw Eddie take off."

Sookie's head shot up, as did her stirring arm, sending a wave of batter across the kitchen. "What?"

Lorelai interjected, "I kind of told him he could go. I almost hit him with my car, so I figured it was the least I could do."

Sookie nodded, understanding, as if it was an excuse often accepted, "Oh, okay. Steve, you're in charge today."

"Yippee," he offered sarcastically, retreating from the doorway.

"Hey, why don't you go check on the horses, too," Sookie suggested.

Lor shook her head, "But I should-"

Sookie cut her off and began leading her out of the kitchen, "Ease yourself back in. We've got a slow day going here, 'kay. Come back in fifteen minutes, and I'll have some brownies for you to try."

Her words were met by a loud crash and a strangled cry from the kitchen.

"Make that twenty minutes," she smiled. After a beat, she added, "I'd better go check on...yeah. Jake!"

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The rest of the day had gone by in an unusually unceremonious fashion, and although Michel avoided her like she had the Black Plague, Sookie "accidentally on purpose" added too much cocoa to the brownies, so Lorelai was _forced_ to take them home with her. The thought was nice, but brownies equal wallowing food, and if she had wallowing food on hand, she would be forced to wallow.

Then again, she probably would've decided to wallow anyway, so at least she had brownies.

It was late - almost dark - when she pulled the Jeep into the driveway that day. And who did she find on her doorstep? Why it was Mr. Adulterer himself.

"You're here. You are actually back here, sitting on my porch," she stopped in the yard as he rose from the top step.

"I'll keep coming back," he declared, coming down the steps, one, two, three, until he was eye level with her (or as close to eye level one can be with Dean Forester).

Advancing past him, she spat back, "Good luck with that."

"What is that suppose to mean?"

She had reached the porch, but turned around at the sound of his voice. His back was still to her, but his shoulders were tense, his spine erect, signaling that he was getting angry.

She knew she shouldn't, but she antagonized him anyway, "What do you think it's suppose to mean?"

He spun around. "Who knows Lorelai? Half of the time you talk in code, so excuse me if my pea-brain can't grasp the concept on the first time around!"

"Go," she drew the first word out, "home."

"Not until I talk to her." He spoke slowly, enunciating each word with an angry calm.

"You're seriously telling me you haven't heard?"

"Heard what? I've been gone for a week. I've been in Maine with-"

She cut him off, "Your wife? So you finally remembered her? Good. That's a start."

"Where is Rory?"

"I don't know!" she took a moment, a deep breath to try and keep her voice from rising, before she spoke again, "Okay? Happy? I have no idea where she is!"

"What are you talking about?"

"She left, Dean. Took off," she gestured wildly with her arms, "to god knows where. Well, okay, I do know where, but not _where _specifically," the second part was said quietly, more so to herself, but loud enough for Dean to hear.

He looked down, stunned and confused, "She's gone?"

"Was she supposed to wait around here? For _you_?" her voice rose again, anger bubbling over the surface.

"It's not like her to just take off," his voice was getting smaller, _he_ was getting smaller, as he lost his steam, his conviction.

Lorelai, however, seemed to feed off the sight of the deflating spirit in front of her, "You're damn straight it's not!"

"Well...I..." he stammered, "where would she go?"

"New York," she answered nonchalantly.

"New York? All of her family is in Connecticut. Why...why New York?"

"I'll give that pea-brain of yours a second to warm up."

They stood in silence for a few seconds, in a sort of staring contest, each daring the other to end the showdown. Lorelai, tired and frustrated, decided his pea-brain was taking too long.

"Jess! God, Jess is in New York! It's all over town, Dean. So is news of the affair, so you may want to tell Lindsay before someone else does. Now get the hell of my property."

He took a step back, head down, trying to process the information, "I don't believe you. She wouldn't go there, back to him, she wouldn't..." he trailed off, trying to come up with more reasons, more explanations.

"I never thought she would either, alright," she spoke softly, almost feeling sorry for the flustered guy in front of her, the guy she had know for years, the guy she, at one point in time, probably would have picked to be with Rory. But that empathy was lost once he spoke again.

"Her and I were going to-"

"_To what_, Dean? You were going to be together? But only after you smoothed things over with your wife on a weeklong vacation, right? Hey, I get it. You wanted the best of both worlds."

If he heard her, which, considering the volume of her voice, was impossible not to, he didn't let on or react in any way. He only shook his head and muttered softly, "I can't believe she took off like that."

"You brought this on yourself. This is _your_ fault," she said, turning on her heel and entering the dark house, signaling and end to the conversation. Dean stood still, reeling from this newfound revelation.

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Lindsay sat at the kitchen table, trying (and failing) to go over the upcoming conversation in her head. No, not conversation...Fight? Screaming match? Divorce?

The word left a metallic taste on her tongue and she wanted to throw up.

__

Divorced.

At 19.

Just like her parents. And her grandparents. And her aunts, and uncles, and a few cousins to boot.

She didn't want to be like them. She wanted to be different.

Divorced.

The door opened softly, and she knew he thought she was in bed. Asleep. Unaware. He was trying to sneak in, unnoticed. He was trying to avoid her, easing the door closed to avoid the creaking of the hinges (he _promised_ to oil weeks ago) and moving, moving slowly, moving quietly, moving cautiously.

He visibly jumps when he sees her, startled by her dejected form sitting at the wobbly kitchen table (he _promised_ to fix weeks ago). She is staring at her hands, refusing to look at him.

And he knows she knows.

But he won't admit it. Not yet.

"Linds, what...are you waiting up for me?" his tone was accusatory and his face contorted in anger (it was his best defense).

"As if you have a right to even speak to me," she replied quietly, still not looking up.

He backpedaled, "I just meant, it's late. You should be in bed, sleeping."

"I'm surprised you're not in bed," she replied coolly, "With Rory."

Hers eyes met his, a look of confusion donning his features.

"Please," she continued, "I know you don't think much of me - that I'm...dumb, and...selfish and spoiled, or, I don't know, blinded by my idealistic love for you," she spat out, standing to confront him, "but did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

"I don't know what you heard, but-"

She heard the clicking of Miss Patty's tongue as she walked passed that morning. She heard the conspiratorial whispers of Babette and Bootsy (Bootsy! of all people) as she bought the latest issue of _People Magazine_ from his stand that afternoon. Slowly, the snippets of conversation fell together, and Lindsay was able to figure out what the big to-do was about. She didn't expect it to involve her.

"But what, Dean? Hmm? It didn't mean anything? You still love me? Or better yet, you love her, and your lawyer will contact mine? Is that what we've become!" she cried out, willing herself to remain strong and keep her tears at bay.

"I do love you Lindsay," he argued, in a 'duh' sort of tone. _Duh, I love you. _That's_ why I slept with my ex-girlfriend._

"Please," she did her best to sound bitter, cynical, but it came out more pathetic than she would have hoped. At the sound of her own voice, her own pathetic voice, her anger at him was replaced by anger at herself. Why couldn't she be strong? Why couldn't she hate him?

Why wasn't she good enough?

She surrendered to her tears, to her disappointment, to her fear, and managed to choke out, "So you aren't even going to deny it?"

Dean slowly shook his head.

"Great," she moaned almost incoherently, her voice strangled by her sobs.

She had never been one of those beautiful criers. The ones, who when faced with sudden abandonment, let a lone tear trail down their cheek in the most elegant fashion. There were even people who could do it with multiple tears, streaking down their face silently, gracefully. Lindsay was one who sobbed and choked and gasped for air, tears mixing with snot as they ran down her face and met with her runny nose.

She staggered backwards, her body shaking.

"Just listen to me. Alright?" He reached out to her, and she fought the unexplainable urge to give into his touch.

Instead, she fell back down into the uncomfortable wooden chair (he _promised_ to replace weeks ago). She was too tired to fight him. Just too...tired.

"It was stupid, and it was my fault, and I'm sorry," he sat across her, only concern and guilt written on his face. "I don't know what I was thinking. You and I...we'd been having problems, and I just got overwhelmed. You want me to be in six places at once and can't do that."

(Was he actually _blaming_ her?)

"Rory was just...there," he continued, "and I thought I needed...something. But I was wrong." He looked at her with pleading eyes, leaning closer, holding her hand now. "I just need you, Lindsay."

Visions of her parents messy divorce rush through her mind. Her mother's tears. He father's visits limited to every other weekend. Every other holiday. Visions of her mother's knowing eyes on her wedding day, her reassuring hand on her shoulder, silently asking are you sure about this? And she was. She just wanted...

She just wanted to be different.

She desperately _needs_ to be different.

"Okay" is all she says.

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Notes: "I just need you Lindsay." Oh, can't you imagine Dean looking at her with those big, dumb eyes!

Anyhoo, please, oh please, review! **_Please! _**Your reviews are like...the Sonny to my Cher. The Donny to my Marie. The Captain to my Tennille. The Peaches to my Herb. The Duran to my Duran. Could they have made it big without each other? I think not. Your fellow Lit (read: me) needs you!

BTW, has anyone else noticed the sudden spike of Trory fics? Geez, people, Tristin's on _One Tree Hill_ now. Gone. Forever.

What's that? Jess is gone too? Well...I, uh...oh, hush you.

Hypocrite be thy name :)


	9. Eight: Life with a Gilmore

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Title: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

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Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_.

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Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

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Notes: First and foremost, I want to thank all of you for your kind reviews! You guys are awesome. :) Your words just brighten my day to no end. ;) So, as a token of my gratitude, here is chapter eight! Took me long enough...

Essentially, this chapter and the last one were going to go together, but it got too long. Ergo, I spilt them up; this one takes place a week later. Anyhoo...

Remember, this is post-season _four_. Meaning, Emily and Richard haven't technically split up yet. Hint, hint. ;)

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Chapter Eight: Life with a Gilmore

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The sun was setting over the city when Jess pushed through the door that evening. It had been a long day, his clothes wreaked of exhaust, his boss was a continual jerk (especially after Jess had taken his impromptu week-long vacation), every muscle in his body ached and he wanted nothing more than to grab a beer, bitch about his day, and debate as to whether or not he could muster up enough energy to hang himself from the ceiling fan. It was his typical 5 o'clock feeling, as it had been for the past four and a half months, since he took the job as a messenger and met Mr. _You can sleep when you're dead! _Rhoades.

However, as he dropped his bag next to the door and took off his jacket, that feeling was overpowered by something else. The light in the kitchen. The silent images flickering across the TV. The sound of the radio, playing..._was that Tina Turner?_ He rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress the smirk that played on his lips.

He wasn't alone.

Ironic how now that he actually had someone to bitch to, the urge suddenly lost its immediacy.

He remembered now. The five o'clock feeling of the last four months had drastically changed in the last two weeks. Since she got here.

"Hey you," her eyes caught him lurking in the doorway, watching her move inexpertly around the kitchen.

He pulled himself up off the door jam and moved forward, kissing the side of her head as he maneuvered to her left to get a glass of water. She kissed his cheek, then his mouth, not giving enough him time to respond, resulting in the most adorable pout, then sigh, that she had ever seen. She smiled in spite of herself and leaned against the counter, watching his adam's apple bob as he downed the glass of cool water, then his muscular arm as he set the glass down, then his eyes as they trained on her.

"How was you day?" she asked, smiling, as she moved past him, tooling around the kitchen, finishing up the chores she had assigned herself.

He shook his head. "Shitty," he replied as he rubbed his eyes. "Yours?"

"Hmm?" she turned to face him, "Good. I finished unpacking."

"Did you have enough room?"

"Well, we had a bit of a book issue, so I _had_ to house Hemmingway and Kerouac under the bed."

He shot her a sidelong glance and patented smirk. "Sure you did," he nodded, rifling through the fridge. "Make any calls?"

When she didn't respond, he thought maybe she hadn't heard him. He pulled his head from the refrigerator and looked over his shoulder, making eye contact and offering her a small, albeit reassuring, smile.

"Actually, I didn't have the time," she offered, taking the three steps it took to get from the kitchen to the living room.

"Oh," was all he said as her now seemingly drained body collapsed on the worn sofa. He closed the fridge door and moved over the one of the cupboards. After a few moments, he moved to the next one.

"I thought you were going shopping today," Jess questioned teasingly, hoping to ease the tension that had settled in the room, looming like a black cloud above her head.

It worked.

"I did," she assured matter-of-factly, obviously proud of her own small feat.

"All we have," he turned to her, "are Poptarts and _Nesquick_."

"That's half of the food pyramid right there," she grinned madly.

"We don't even have milk for the Nesquick. Or a toaster for the Poptarts."

"Eww," she scrunched up her nose in disgust, contemplating. "You can't have cold Poptarts. We should go buy a toaster."

"Rory, we need _food_," he reasoned.

"Welcome to life with a Gilmore."

"So, I shop next time." It was a statement more than a question, but he was smiling nonetheless.

"You should go tomorrow," she eyed him, shaking her head dramatically, "There's no food in this place."

He turned away only because he didn't want her to see the look on his face. The one of pure happiness. Or contentment. Excitement? A mixture of the three? His senses were overloaded and he found himself unable to control the betrayal of his eyes. His lips. Always curved upwards.

He figured he was finally going insane.

Considering who his mother and father were, he decided it was about time.

He joined her on the couch, a bowl of stale popcorn in his right hand. She shifted slightly, a motion meant to allow him more room; a sweet gesture, albeit unnecessary, as it was impossible to comfortably fit two people on the pathetic excuse of a cushion, the fabric (worn to almost nothingness) stretched tightly over the frame.

She was flipping through a magazine now, her Technicolor eyes skimming the pages, not immersed, but involved nonetheless.

When the remote was picked up off of the coffee table and the radio changed stations, settling on a softer ballad, the lyrics almost indiscernible, her eyes stopped moving as she instead strained her ears.

Jess put the remote back down and popped a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. Her grin pierced his peripheral vision, that contagious grin, the one he found himself reciprocating (_reluctantly_) whenever she presented him with it.

"What?" he asked, his tone defensive, not quite sure what was coming.

"You changed the station."

"Tina Turner and Rod Stewart; back-to-back," he argued, his eyebrows raising higher with each word. "I honestly didn't think you'd mind."

"But the station you left it on is currently playing Elton John."

Jess nodded, "_Rocket Man_." More pieces of popcorn found their way to his mouth.

"You're telling me that Elton John is a better alternative?"

"Don't you think so?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't think you would."

He replied with another smirk, an introverted one, meant for himself moreso than for her.

It had only been a little over two weeks, but already she was amazed by the little things. The little things you pick up on when you're living with someone.

Especially a boy someone.

She had always lived with her mother; she grew up knowing all about her quirks and tendencies:

She covered her mouth when she yawned.

She curled the left side of her hair first.

She loved Metallica.

She always laughed at the end of _Blazing Saddles _and always cried at the end of _Love Story_.

And she always would.

It was all she had ever known, so, obviously, none of it took her by surprise.

But things were different with a boy, she was learning. Especially _this_ boy. In the short time that they had been back together, she had learned more about him than she had known through the tenure of their two year friendship/flirt-ship.

Jess can't read before going to bed. He gets too immersed in the book and won't be able to sleep until he finishes it. Incidentally, Rory always reads before going to sleep. It calms her down; helps her relax.

After taking a shower, he uses his hand to carelessly wipe away the condensation on the mirror, making a space just big enough so he can see to shave. She takes a towel and wipes down the mirror, corner to corner, leaving a streak-free surface.

He squeezes the toothpaste from the middle.

__

So does Lorelai

And now, Elton John.

(Not to mention Wham! She caught him whistling "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" just yesterday. He'll never live it down).

Turning to him, she smiled a secretive smile, one he didn't quite understand. But he didn't mind. It was nice to see her smile; it was nice to see her.

It was nice to assume that she was smiling because of him.

Yes, he liked to think that.

He smiled back before kissing her sweetly, slowly.

She tasted cool.

He tasted like popcorn.

But she didn't care.

(He liked Wham, but she didn't care.)

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Lorelai had played out this night in her head nonstop for the past week. It was like a horror movie, on repeat and never ending, always with the same outcome.

Even in her subconscious, she couldn't escape the gravity of the situation; this morning she woke with the latest dream still vivid in her memory. Granted her imagination ran wild at times, she approached the door this evening certain as to how the scenario would play out.

It was simple, really. She would tell her parents about Rory's _departure, _and they would lock her in the basement, the ultimate eternal damnation, declaring that she was in no way fit to be a mother, let alone a functioning member of society.

And there she would sit for all eternity, her only contact with the outside world being the three times a day when her meal (bread and water, of course) was sent down the service elevator. She would never get to see Rory again.

Or Luke.

Or coffee.

Or Luke's coffee.

Come to think of it, she never did finish watching _Win a Date with Tad Hamilton _(for good reason). But now eternal damnation was a possibility. And now she would have to spend the rest of her life wondering how it ends.

This nightmare was on her 'worst-case scenario' list, but when it came to her parents, she knew from experience that that was the one that usually played out.

(Even with this in mind, Lorelai found it surprisingly easy to ring the doorbell tonight. Fate is funny in a twisted way.)

"Lorelai. You're late. Postponing the inevitable?" Emily greeted, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"Actually, it wasn't intentional this time," Lorelai offered sincerely, a tone which went right over her mother's head.

"I see Rory isn't with you," she eyed the porch behind her daughter, "Is she still feeling under the weather?"

"Hmm?"

Emily took Lorelai's inquiry as an affirmation and continued, "It's a shame she's still ill. We missed you two last week at dinner," she called over her shoulder, talking _at_ Lorelai rather than _to_ her, as they made their way to the sitting room.

"Oh, yeah," Lorelai nodded dumbly, "So, where's dad?"

Emily waved her arm, "Waiting in the pool house. He refuses to step foot in here until the last possible second."

"Sorry you guys are still fighting," she shrugged as she sat down, sinking back into the cushions, exhaling deeply.

Her mother paused, surprised, "Thank you." She paused again, thoughtfully, before recovering, "Although I'm not sure I believe it after that scenario you pulled at the inn."

"I thought it might help. Rory really doesn't want to see her grandparents break up, you know," Lorelai argued lamely.

Emily nodded, "I figured as much."

Silence descended upon the two as both sat deep in thought. The calm only resided in the room for a few moments before it was chased away by the maid.

"Ma'am," she offered tentatively, "Dinner is ready. Should I send for Mr. Gilmore?"

Emily waved her off flippantly, "If you must."

Lorelai smiled, an image of a regal, less-abusive Joan Crawford drifting through her mind. Emily led the way to the dining room with, Lorelai noticed, an almost condescending spring in her step. It screamed _"I know something you don't know."_

But that was impossible. She didn't even know about the Rory situation yet.

Or did she?

No, she couldn't know. She didn't know.

Did she?

Lorelai internal debate was cut short when her father took his seat a the head of the table.

"Hello Lorelai." (She jumped.) "Emily," he greeted his wife curtly.

"Richard." Her tone was equally cold and Lorelai swore on her life that the temperature of the room dropped at least ten degrees. She pulled her shrug tightly around her body.

Richard looked around, realizing for the first time that they were, in fact, short one person. "Now, where is Rory?"

"Still under the weather," Emily offered.

"Well, that's a shame. You two were sorely missed last week at dinner."

"Has she told you if she's thought anymore about Europe?" Emily turned to Lorelai, her voice baring a tone that bordered on excitement.

Lorelai smiled kindly at the maid as their food was placed before them before answering. "I haven't really got a chance to talk to her lately."

Her mother's semblance of a smile wavered for a moment. "I see. I suppose I'll just have to call her then. I'm making arrangements." The corners of her mouth were tugged upwards again as she continued, "I was able to book a room in this lovely Chateau in Paris. Oh, I'm just so thrilled that we're going."

"Mom, she hasn't said yes yet," Lorelai reasoned.

"Please, Lorelai. Who would pass up a free trip to Europe. In style, I might add."

Richard nodded, "I have to agree with Emily here. This is such an opportunity for her."

His wife smiled, taken aback. "Thank you, Richard."

"She's already been to Europe once. Remember?"

"Oh, please," Emily rolled her eyes. "That little excursion you two went on hardly counts."

"It does, too."

"I'll just wait until I talk to Rory myself," she continued.

Lorelai shifted uncomfortably. The opportunity was there. Right _there_. The door had been opened for her; all she had to do was step inside. Tell them. Now.

"Wow, these vegetables are great, mom," she smiled.

Mission Failed.

Richard nodded, "New maid, Emily?"

His wife met his smirk, "Aren't you just charming."

"Really, there are amazing," she persisted. "What's in them?"

"Vegetables, I'm assuming."

"And these little red things?"

"For heaven's sake, Lorelai, I don't know."

"Maybe they're red peppers. And the pea pods; look at this color. Isn't this a great color?"

"I'm not sure. You'll have to excuse me; it seems I'm not as proficient with vegetables as you are."

"Why Emily, I was under the assumption that you knew everything about, well, everything," Richard piped in.

Emily's mouth opened to retort, but Lorelai beat her to it, motioning excitedly to some sort of cauliflower-y looking substance.

"What about this here? What's this?"

"Lorelai, for the love of god, what is it with you and the food!" Emily threw her fork down in frustration.

A silence bore down on the room, the three occupants looking expectantly at one another. Emily picked up her fork and began eating again, an unspoken command for the others to do the same.

Richard and Lorelai picked up on the signal and complied.

"Do you suppose that Rory will be well enough for me to call tomorrow? We really should finalize our plans." She wiped the corner of her mouth with a delicately embroidered napkin. A napkin, Lorelai thought bitterly, that most likely cost more than her house.

Granted, she wouldn't expect anyone to pay more than five bucks and a pack of Slim Jims for the Crap Shack, but that was besides the point.

It hit her _then_, why she didn't know. She was an adult. A grown woman. She owned her own home; even if it's nick name was the Crap Shack, it was still _hers_. She had a job, an inn, another place that was _hers_. And she had done it by herself. These people didn't own her. They had nothing on her whatsoever.

__

Why was she so afraid of them?

"Lorelai, I asked you a question."

Deep breath. Moment of truth.

"You can't...call Rory, mom."

She did it. (And in that moment, she was invincible.)

Emily's head shot up. "And why not?"

"Because there's no way to get ahold of her." Lorelai nodded proudly (she _was_ invincible!) and returned to her vegetable medley.

"What are you talking about, Lorelai?"

"She's not in Stars Hollow," she shrugged.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Emily sighed in frustration.

__

She went on a vacation herself. It looks like she won't be able to go to Europe and stay in Chateau's and spend money like it's going out of style with **you** she thought angrily.

"Lorelai, we deserve an explanation." Richard pushed his plate away and loosened his tie. A gesture that showed he meant business.

Emily continued for him, "Was she even sick last week, or was that just another one of your-"

"Mom, stop. Rory...she...just...took off."

"When?"

"Almost two weeks ago."

Richard's head turned sharply, "Two weeks!"

"And you're just now telling us," Emily shrieked.

__

Why was she so afraid of them?

Oh, yeah. Because they're scary.

"I was waiting for her to call," she stumbled, "which she hasn't," she added dumbly, "so I would actually have something to tell you."

"Something to tell us? Other than that my granddaughter has run away from home? What happened Lorelai? How could you let this happen?"

"How could _I_-"

Emily cut her off, "Is this by any chance school related?"

"No."

"Did you two have some sort of fight?"

"No."

"Then why would she just up and leave?"

Her mother stared at her accusingly, the question hovering over Lorelai's head like a black cloud of shame, of blame, of inadequacy.

Turns out she wasn't invincible. 'Cause something in her broke.

"To see Jess! Okay! All I know is that she's off, somewhere, in New York, looking for Jess!"

The cloud dissipated. The inadequacy remained.

"Jess." The word jumped off her mother's lips, as if she was disgusted to have it in her mouth for but a few seconds.

The inadequacy grew.

"_The_ Jess. The Broken Arm Jess. The Black Eye Jess. The 'There's Raisins in the Salad' Jess?" She spat every single syllable in Lorelai's face. _Your fault, your fault, your fault._

Richard's voice merely held disappointment, "Lorelai, how could you-"

She stopped him, "How could I what, dad? Hmm? How could I let this happen? How could I let her go? I didn't just sit there as she walked out the door, okay! I came home, and she was gone."

"Then how do you know where she went?" It was almost a statement, as if she didn't expect an answer.

Or as if she already knew it.

"There was a note. She left a note."

The irony of the situation hit them all instantaneously, a whip crack, short-sounding, but loud, startling.

No one commented on it.

"Well, we have to find her," Emily reasoned.

"What?" _Your fault, your fault, your fault._

"We'll have the best private investigators in Connecticut searching day and night until they find her."

"And then what, Mom! She's 19 years old! She's an adult! You can't just drag her back here!"

"We can't just do nothing either!"

"We don't have a choice," the stoic man at the head of the table spoke quietly.

"Richard."

"Lorelai's right. She's an adult. She made a choice, albeit a poor one. We must respect her decision." His tone was one of finality, of certainty.

"We don't even know if she's alright," Emily cried. She turned her attention back to Lorelai, "Don't you even care if she's alright?"

"Of course I care! She's my best friend and I don't know why..." Her voice broke.

"You don't know why what?"

"I don't know why she would do this. She tells me everything. We talk about everything. She took off without a word or a warning and all I got was a lousy note!"

Emily smiled smugly. Lorelai knew what was coming.

"Hmm. That sounds vaguely familiar. Doesn't feel good, does it?"

__

Why was she so afraid of them?

Oh, yeah. Because sometimes they were right.

Lorelai unconsciously wiped her eyes. She stood up slowly. She pushed the chair in noiselessly. She mustered up the courage to look both of her parents in the eyes.

Richard.

Emily.

She spoke clearly and emotionlessly. "I'll show myself out, thanks."

No one went after her. No one even stood in an _attempt_ to _look like_ they were _considering_ going after her.

As her heels clicked on the hard wood, and then the cement, all she heard (besides her blood pounding in her ears) was

__

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Lorelai was calm. Eerily calm. Her breathing was unhurried, her heartbeat normal. Her pupils weren't dilated, her palms weren't sweaty. She was collected and focused; focused on getting home.

But home to what?

No daughter. No husband. No boyfriend.

Hell, not even a goldfish.

She slowed the Jeep down as she neared the stop light. The one stop light in Stars Hollow. She didn't remember passing the Welcome sign. She didn't even remember getting off the freeway.

She paused only momentarily, a 'rolling stop' as they were called. She turned right. She stopped in front of the diner.

The chairs were up, the legs making linear shadows along the floor and windows. She could see Luke behind the counter meticulously separating the days receipts.

Upon reaching the door, she hesitated. He hadn't seen her yet; she could still bolt. But for the first time in her life, she didn't want to.

Heaving the door open with a sigh, the bell tinkling loudly in the dead space, she made her way inside, marching right up to the counter wordlessly and taking a seat.

Luke looked startled at her silence, but relieved. Relieved to see her? Or relieved that she was, in fact, being quiet? She really wasn't sure.

"I went to my parent's house tonight," she began. "I told them that Rory left. Oh, and it's all my fault."

Luke came around the counter, taking a seat next to her. "I don't-"

She cut him off, "I should've just gone in, told them the situation, and left. But _nooo_. I had to drag it out. I had to stay for cocktails and dinner, and oh god! The vegetables."

"Lorelai-"

She cut him off again, going into full-on rant mode, "I mean, I was going on and on about this vegetable medley with peas and carrots and I was saying how good it was-"

"You hate anything green," he was able to interject.

"I know! I do," she agreed adamantly. "And this was no exception, 'cause it was gross, but I couldn't stop talking about it, and eating it, so I was complimenting the food and eating the food; it became this ritualistic type thing, compliment, eat, talk, eat-"

"Lor-" he tried.

"-and I was just shoveling in these disgusting, cold vegetables while my parents alternately threw barbs at each other, but, of course, my mom took a break to interrogate me and I cracked and told them."

"How bad-"

"So bad. 'Cause this is my fault. I should have done this, and I should have done that, and I should have married Christopher, because I'm sure if I had that it would have altered our future and somehow effected the events of the past four weeks, and not only would Rory be here, but my parents wouldn't be on the verge of divorce, because I'm sure that's my fault too, you know-"

"It's not-"

"And then my mom wanted to hire Veronica Mars to find her-"

"What does that mean!" Luke yelled.

The lights above the counter buzzed. She had never noticed that before.

They both sat, staring at each other, both remembering what transpired between them weeks before.

Lorelai was the one to break the ice.

"We kissed."

"I know."

She looked down. "We kissed, and Rory left, and I became Ralph Waldo Emerson, only I don't have a Pulitzer Prize winning book to show for it." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, visibly deflating before his eyes, "God, did Emerson even win a Pulitzer? I don't know."

"Me either," he offered, shrugging.

"I'm sorry, Luke." She looked at him now, the bluest eyes boring into even bluer ones.

"Oh. No problem," he stood, rubbing his hands on his jeans. Embarrassed that he had even kissed her in the first place, disappointed that she didn't feel the same.

She saw the shift and reached out for his hand. "No, no. I'm sorry that I've left you high and dry for two weeks."

Looking at their entwined fingers, he nodded understandingly, "You were going through something."

"Wanna know a secret?"

"Hmm?" he asked, sitting back down.

"Even if Rory hadn't left, I might have avoided you anyway," she stage whispered.

He smiled. "Really?"

"I just got lucky with an unstable kid leaving town around the same time I was going through my own little mental...thing." She smiled back. "It gave me a great excuse to hide from the world without consequence."

"I'll have to try that sometime."

She suddenly felt shy. She was a grown woman holding a grown man's hand, and she felt shy.

If she felt that when they were fully clothed, she could only imagine how she would feel when...

"I'm glad we kissed." She was sincere. "Are you glad we kissed?"

"Well, I did kiss you," Luke stated.

"Right," she stumbled. "So that would imply that you were happy about it."

"Pretty much."

"Unless, of course, it didn't meet your expectations, in which case you wouldn't be so happy about it because this dream you had of me and what a great kisser I am are now gone forever. So?" She looked at him hopefully.

"So, what?"

"So, was I a good kisser?"

He paused.

"Eh, mediocre."

Her eyes widened dramatically, "Mediocre?"

"What can I say? You win some, you lose some."

"Now you've gone and hurt my feelings."

He shook his head, "Lorelai, I was kidding."

"Oh, it's too late for apologies, mister. But, if you give me coffee and the promise of a date, I may forgive you."

He looked away, nodding thoughtfully. His eyes found hers again and he tightened his hold on her hand. "I can do that."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was late in New York. Or early, depending on how you chose to look at it. He was sleeping soundly, curled up next to her, holding her tightly (the way she loved). She was still awake, tracing the cracks in the ceiling. Reveling in the feel of him, naked, next to her (the way she loved). As content as she was, her mind churned restlessly. Remembering the excitement of her day, astounded that she had forgot to tell him, she angled her face and kissed his nose.

"Hey," he said.

She jumped, "You're awake?"

"Seems like I am." He pulled her closer.

"Guess what?" she almost shrieked.

"What?" he mimicked her tone.

"I'm gonna get a job tomorrow," she grinned.

He cocked his head quizzically. "Good luck with that."

"I am," she argued adamantly.

She saw the wheels start turning as his brain began to work overdrive and the guilt spread across his face.

"Ror, I..." he looked away, "I don't want you to feel like you have to work."

"But I do," she stated.

"No, you don't," he stated abruptly, turning away, trying to signal an end to the conversation with no such luck.

"Jess, there's no way we can afford this place with just you working." She continued, "Besides, what else am I suppose to do all day?"

He fumbled for the words, "You don't have to-"

"I want to."

His brain screamed _School! What about school!_ but he was too much of a coward to actually vocalize it. Too afraid that if he did, this snow globe that they were living in would break.

Too afraid that if she heard those words, she would realize the reality of her decision.

Too afraid that she would realize how crazy this is.

Too afraid that she would leave.

That he still wasn't good enough.

...the last part he knew to be true.

"Jess." She broke through his thoughts and unknowingly addressed his fears, "I'm here for good, okay? That means making a life for us," she gestured between them, "putting down roots, so to speak. That means_ you_..." she poked his arm.

"Home..." she held out both hands in a true 'ta-da' fashion.

"Job," she finished, tilting her head ever-so-slightly to the right, trying to make him meet her eyes.

He did, and immediately gave in. "Though I admire your enthusiasm, it's gonna be a little harder than that," he offered lamely.

She nodded furiously, "I can do it."

"I know you can."

"Plus, Laura said she'd help me."

His thoughts drifted to their (in his opinion) overly-friendly landlord with the good-intentioned, yet stubborn personality. If there was anyone knew _everyone_ in this city, his best bet would on her.

"Well then, there's nothing stopping you, now is there?"

"Now that's the spirit," she grinned (that contagious grin!) and kissed him softly.

Ignoring the cracks in the ceiling now, she tucked her head down against his chest, safely nestled underneath his chin.

__

Safely...

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

**__**

Notes: More threes, Luce! lol. Again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed this. This one gives me trouble, so it's extra satisfying when I finish a chapter, _especially _if you all like it.

Please **review**. Just drop me a quick comment! It's only take you a minute. Literally!

Either way, **thanks for reading**! I hope you enjoyed it.


	10. Nine: To Be Awake Alone

**_Title_**: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

**_Summary_**: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_.

**_Disclaimer: _**Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

**_Notes:_** A big THANKS for all the reviews for the previous chapter...I know, it was so long ago. ;) Sorry this took forever. The muse responsible for this fic has been elusive lately. Forgive me?

**_Chapter Nine:_** To Be Awake Alone

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Rory Gilmore was quickly becoming embittered by New York City. She loved the sights, she loved the food, she loved her boyfriend; all of which were there, yet she was having a hard time falling in love with the city itself.

Case in point:

It was her third straight day of job hunting. And not hitting two or three places before going home. This was hard-core, blister inducing, beating the pavement, covering miles in just a few hours, job hunting. This was out 9 to 5, coming home exhausted and disheartened and having nothing to show for it.

In a city of 8 million, she would have assumed that one place, one store, one deli, one hole-in-the-wall _anything_ would need an employee.

Apparently, NYC had reached capacity.

She kept at it, though. Something had to give. She knew it would. This was meant to be; her and Jess. It took her a few weeks, but she was sure now. (So sure, in fact, that she had contacted her mother. A post card, yes, but contact nonetheless.)

In order for this, for _them_, to work, she would need a job. Ergo, everything would fall into place. She believed.

She had no real world skills (she couldn't even flawlessly apply mascara in a moving vehicle). Besides doing minimal paperwork for her mother's inn, she had no work experience. She was green, and she looked it. Porcelain skin, big doe eyes, flawless complexion; to say she didn't fit in with the locals was an understatement. But she kept on.

It was a Thursday, and millions of people nationwide were hunkering down to watch Survivor, or perhaps the OC. But not Jess, and for many reasons. Survivor, although entertaining in the sense that human beings would, in fact, do anything for money (and there is video to prove it), was not exactly Jess's liking. And the OC...well, that one's pretty much self-explanatory.

Tasteless television aside, Jess was having trouble sitting still because Rory wasn't home yet. The summertime sunshine was fading along the horizon, sending a harsh glow through the paper-thin curtains of their living room. To avoid being momentarily blinded, Jess refrained from looking up, instead focusing his attention on the worn copy of _Naked Lunch_ in his hands. The words on the coffee-stained page blurred together, creating an incoherent jumble that he couldn't decipher. But he kept his attention to the novel in hopes of distracting himself from his worry.

_Worry_. There's a concept. He was currently worrying about another person.

This past month had been full of firsts.

Before he could begin over-analyzing his current, pathetic state, the door opened roughly, slamming against the wall behind it. He jumped up, not startled by the sound, but relieved. A muffled _Dammit_ drifted to the living room as Rory threw her purse and keys down right on the worn hard wood. Looking up, she stopped, surprised and embarrassed that he had witnessed the beginnings of a patented Gilmore breakdown.

_Right. So this is what it was like living with someone._

"Sorry. Long day," she threw her hands up as way of explanation.

"No luck?" he asked softly.

Trying her best to sound upbeat, she replied, "Not yet."

She made a half circle into the kitchen and poured herself a cool glass of water. He followed, leaning his elbows back against the counter.

"You know," he began, "if you ever need some time to yourself or anything, feel free to kick me out."

She turned to face him, confused, but intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, this is a tiny apartment. If I'm ever in your way, or if you ever just want to be alone, tell me. I can take off for a few hours."

She smiled, "I'll keep that in mind. And the same goes for me."

"Oh, I have no problem banishing you to the streets," he shrugged, his smirk betraying his serious tone.

Rory set her cup down and skipped the short distance across the kitchen. Hopping directly in front of him, she stopped, placing her hands on his shoulders and kissing him soundly.

"You're crazy," he murmured against her lips.

"You love it," she replied.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Later that night, after a passionate display in the kitchen and another in the bedroom, they lay tangled together on top of the sheets. Jess slept soundly, his face buried in her neck. Rory, once again, lay awake, restlessness sweeping over her as she counted the headlights as they swept across the off-white ceiling.

_74_

Deciding that 74 was as good a number as any, she turned her gaze away from the ceiling and to the sleeping form next to her.

"Jess."

Doing his best to ignore her, he chose not to stir. But she knew he had heard her.

"Jess, wake up," she tried again.

"Why?" he finally groaned.

"Because I'm awake, and I don't want to be awake alone," she explained.

He opened his eyes and shifted next to her, shooting her a pleading glance. "I'm tired," he whined.

Shaking her head in mock indifference, she continued, "Guess what I did today."

Jess sighed and pulled her closer, settling into the soft cotton. He dismissed the fact that he had to be at work in four hours and instead welcomed the idea of running on no sleep.

"Do I really have to guess?"

"Nope. I'll tell ya'," she poked at his chest with her index finger.

"Well?" he yawned.

"I sent my mom a post card."

(That woke him up).

She looked away as she continued, "I know it's not a lot, but I figured it's better than nothing. To let her know that I'm okay and everything."

"Good."

"The one I sent her had a picture of the Guggenheim on it. The Empire State Building ones are so overrated, dontcha think?"

He nodded in agreement, "Definitely."

"I think she'll like it. She's not a big museum person, but I think she'll like it," she paused. "Well, I liked it. God, I should've picked out something _she'd_ like."

"Hey, she'll love it."

Rory's heart sank. "No, she won't. She hates museums."

Jess raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Has she ever been to one?"

"Yes. When she was 10, she went on this field trip to one. And everyone had to buddy up and hold hands so they wouldn't get lost, and she got stuck with Bud Fry, who picked his nose."

"Bud Fry?"

"Not the point."

"Sorry."

"She hates museums," she finished.

"Rory," he took a moment to push her hair away from her face, making her look at him. "She'll love the post card."

"You think?" she asked hopefully.

"She'll just be glad to hear from you."

"Yeah," she agreed.

His expression became somber, and his eyes clouded over as an internal battle began. "Can I ask you a question?" He seemed almost timid, a side of him she'd never seen before.

"Of course."

"Why didn't you just call her?" He left the question dangling, no follow up, no clarification, no speculation. It hovered above them, waiting to be answered.

(Rory hesitated).

"She'd probably yell," she stumbled.

"Are you afraid she'd talk you into going back?" he put it bluntly.

(Rory didn't hesitate).

"No. I'm here for good, Jess. I...this is something I need to do on my own. That means no interference from her."

"But she's your mom."

"I just need to do this," she assured him confidently.

"Okay."

She smiled up at him, kissing his nose, then snuggling into his chest.

"Thanks for talkin' with me," she whispered sleepily.

He kissed her head with a quiet _Yeah_ as she drifted off to sleep.

_1, 2. 3..._

Now he was the one counting headlights.

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The next day, Lorelai walked into the diner with a spring in her step. The sun was out, the birds were chirping, and not at all in a mocking way. No, instead, they were conducive to her mood. The inn, although only having been open for a few weeks, was thriving. Consequently, Sookie was cooking the best food of her life, and even Michel had been pleasant as of late. No further contact with her parents had been made, and she hadn't even had to change her phone number.

There had been a few awkward run-ins with Dean, but she was two weeks in the clear. Plus, she'd had a Quentin Tarentino marathon last weekend, and the thought of dismembering him in various, violent ways brought a smile to her face.

All in all, things were good.

Could they be better? Well, yes. But she chose not to focus on that. Denial had always been her specialty.

"Morning, Luke." She reached the counter and stood on her tip toes to bring her lips to his.

(Having been out on six dates, they were able to kiss in public).

Another reason she was so chipper: things with Luke were _amazing_. They'd gone to dinner and the movies and even a baseball game. Lorelai had shouted obscenities at the umpire the entire time, resulting in a rather inappropriate gesture from the field. After that, she resorted on throwing stale popcorn at him. Luke did his best to stop her, but she caught the amused expression he tried to hide.

"Are we still on for tonight?" he questioned while pouring her a cup of coffee.

"Hmm...tonight? Ooh, no can do. I have a date with Julio tonight. Gosh darn the luck. I really must work on my scheduling abilities. Or lack there of."

"Pick you up at eight?"

She nodded, "Yeah, Julio and I should be done by then."

Luke's smile fell into a frustrated frown as his gaze shifted past his girlfriend's shoulders. Lorelai noticed the change and swiveled on the stool to look through the diner windows.

Kirk, followed by countless townies, marched with determination towards the diner.

"I'm locking the doors," Luke decided, moving around the counter.

"Don't bother. We're outnumbered," Lorelai grinned.

"You find that sight funny?"

She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "'Little bit."

Before Luke could even begin to try to understand her logic, the bell above the door chimed as a dozen patrons entered.

"Lorelai," Kirk began in the most official tone he could muster, "I have something for you." Without waiting for a response, he took a post card out of his mailbag and held it out for her to take.

Caught off guard, Lorelai sat there, simply looking at it. After almost four weeks of nothing...there it was. From Rory.

A real postcard with a stamp on it like she's half-way across the world.

She thought she'd see her hand shaking when she finally reached out for it, but it was steady. A picture of some sort of museum adorned the front with tourists walking in and out. One of them had a dog on a red leash.

She didn't know why she noticed that.

Turning it over, her daughter's flowing script appeared in two concise lines. Nothing more.

"Did you read this?" Lorelai questioned.

"Of course not!" Kirk replied, offended, "We take an oath!"

"What does it say, sugar? Is she alright?" Babette piped up from the back.

_Mmm-hmm_ was all Lorelai could bring herself to say.

She thinks that's when Luke ushered everyone out of the diner. Everything around moved all fast, the only steadiness in the room being the words on the small piece of cardboard.

_Sorry it took me so long to write. I'm in New York with Jess. We're doing really well._

_I hope you don't hate me._

She hadn't signed it.

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He left feeling good about himself. Sure, Lorelai was shocked, but he thought that the news was best delivered right away. It had already been so long, why make her wait in agony another second?

Kirk Gleason: Bringing people together, one post card at a time.

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**_Notes:_** Bud Fry is not a made up name. My grandma went to kindergarten with a kid named Bud Fry. :) Just so you know...lol! I hope you liked this; I know it was a long time coming. If you took the time to read, please spare a few more moments to review! I'd really appreciate it. :D

Thanks for reading.


	11. Ten: The Culinary Art of Pizza Making

**_Title_**: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

**_Summary_**: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running _to_.

**_Disclaimer: _**Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

**_Notes: _**First and foremost - THANK YOU to all my amazing reviewers. You're support is the only thing that can get me to write this one anymore (because it hates me!). I am still so in awe of how much response this story gets, even though I am a horrible person for not updating it often enough.

Again, sorry this took so long! I'm currently trying to rotate about four stories, and for some reason, this one never wants to be written! Remember, it hates me! But I planted myself in my computer chair today, determined to get this done. So, here she is. I hope it was worth the wait. :) For **Kat**; thanks for the beta and the banners!

Casting Call! Rory's co-workers:

Dexter: David Krumholtz (_Charlie on Numb3rs_)

Remy: Nora Zehetner (_formerly Laynie on Everwood_)

Joe: Beau Bridges 

**_Chapter Ten:_** The Culinary Art of Pizza Making

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She had a game plan. Rory Gilmore needed a job and Rory Gilmore was going to get one, come hell or high water. This was a rough city, and she needed to be rough to fit in. She would be confident, she would be blunt, she would be demanding. She deserves this, damn it.

She brushed her teeth with vigor that morning in anticipation of the day ahead of her. As if a bright and beautiful smile would ensure her success.

Jess stole glances at her from the doorway, keeping quiet so she wouldn't see him. She had just gotten out of the shower, a thin towel the only fabric covering her thin frame. Water droplets ran from her neck to her back, meeting at the concave of her shoulders and sliding even farther downward. She turned slightly and he could see her face, tinted pink from the hot steam. She smiled to herself and he knew that he'd be caught.

"See something you like?" she asked, opening the medicine cabinet and putting away the toothpaste. He smirked, stepping into the bathroom as she continued going about her morning ritual. Acting completely oblivious him, save the grin that kept growing.

He leaned in close to her (she smelled like peach shampoo) and nipped at her earlobe. "Maybe."

She felt her pulse quicken at the feel of his hot breath on her cool skin. He started a trail of burning kisses down her neck to her collarbone making her moan reluctantly. So much for ignoring him.

"Why don't we get back in there?" he suggested, gesturing to the shower before capturing her bottom lip between his teeth.

She couldn't steady her breath well enough to speak. Shaking gasps wracked her body as she resisted the urge to rake her fingers through his hair, to thread them through his belt loops, to pull him even closer.

"I...can't," she managed to croaked, not at all convincingly.

He ignored her and began to pull the towel away from her body, slowly, letting it fall noiselessly to the tile floor. His hands found her breasts and she melted into his body, kissing back with just as much force, just as much want. Need. Passion. Lust.

They didn't stay in the bathroom, instead moving across the hallway into their bedroom. Navigating the space, although only a short distance, proved to be difficult as Jess refused to let his skin leave hers. The tumbled aimlessly, thankfully hitting the bed and not the floor in a moment of sheer luck.

(Her brain went fuzzy and the world went white.)

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It was unbearably hot in Stars Hollow; too hot to do _anything_, let alone be outdoors. But that was where Dean found himself, working construction on what could be a scorcher to break the record books, or so Taylor was spouting.

Fact, or ploy to convince more people to visit his Soda Shoppe? It's hard to say.

Lindsay didn't come by to bring him lunch anymore. He had been brown-bagging it for a few weeks now, trading Pork Rinds for Barbeque Pringles with his coworkers. He didn't feel compelled to complain, though. He was just relieved that she hadn't left him (yet).They weren't speaking, and if he wasn't sleeping on the couch, she was, but for all intents and purposes, they were still married. They could work through it. Dean was confident that they would get past this whole ordeal, that they would be happy. If only...

Lorelai was already crossing the street on her way to _Luke's_ when she spotted Dean working with the crew on the latest addition to the Soda Shoppe; a window into the diner (an 'addition' that Luke was still fighting, to no avail). Not able to turn around without making an ass of herself and not able to stay gaping in the street without getting hit by a car, she continued to her destination, picking up her pace ever-so-slightly as to avoid a confrontation.

_Too late._

"Lorelai, wait a minute," he called. And before she could pretend that she didn't hear him, there he was, standing right in front of her.

"This is Stars Hollow; small town, small sidewalks. You're blocking my way," she declared, eyes narrowing. She was _not_ in the mood for this. Not on the hottest of all the hot days. Not when she needed an iced coffee. _Now_.

"I heard that you got a letter from her." His voice was noticeably lower, as if the whole town didn't know what had happened between him and her daughter. As if it were still a secret only she was privy to.

She groaned, frustrated. "So?"

His eyes darted back and forth like a sneaky raccoon (a sneaky, dirty raccoon) before he leaned in closer, asking, "So, is she coming home?"

"No, Dean. She chose Jess over you. _Again_," she spat. "Why don't you just go home to your wife."

With that, she bypassed him and rounded the corner, leaving the man standing in a dumbfounded state. The thought of Rory being gone and out of his reach - permanently - had been one that he chose not to address. But with the reality of her departure staring him in the face almost one month later, he decided that maybe it would be beneficial to take Lorelai's advice.

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Because of Jess's unstoppable libido, she left the house an hour later than she had originally planned and he was late to work. Again. (That had been happening a lot since Rory moved to New York. Not that either party was complaining.)

The sun itself, already high in the New York sky, was blocked from her view but its effects were visibly taking its toll on the urbanites. Hand-held fans were buzzing all around her, and she momentarily cursed herself for not thinking to get one herself. It was then that she made a mental note to keep her eyes peeled for a coffee shop and it was then that she saw it.

The most beautiful "Help Wanted" sign in the most beautiful window of the most beautiful pizza parlor.

To Rory, whom had been desperately searching for work, it was beautiful. In actuality, the sign consisted of green magic marker on a piece of brown cardboard. It was in the relatively clean window of a relatively clean establishment with a worn wooden sign above the door reading, _Joe's_. But to Rory, it was beautiful.

(And air conditioned.)

A girl with dark hair and a pierced nose stood behind the counter, aimlessly flipping through a Cosmo and smacking her gum in a very unladylike way. She looked dangerous in that New Yorker sort of way; she looked as if she could kill you with one seething look. But Rory was not to be intimidated.

"Hi," she began, successfully getting the girl's attention. "I saw you had a _Help Wanted_ sign in the window."

Looking back at her magazine, the potential killer resumed her disinterested pose. "Yeah, so?

Dropping her sweet smile, Rory put on an aire of indifference to match the woman's. "Well, I'd like to apply for the job."

A guy with dark curly hair appeared then, taking over the conversation. "Do you have any experience in the culinary art of pizza making?"

"Excuse me?" Rory stuttered, caught off-guard.

He continued, "Pizza making is an art form. One needs quick hands, nimble phalanges-"

This got the girl's interest, and she practically threw down her magazine. "Shut the hell up, Dexter. You talk like you're perpetually-stoned."

"I am an artist," Dexter argued.

This didn't convince her. "Right, and pepperoni is your muse."

"I don't appreciate your hurtful tone, Remy."

"Well, I don't exactly _appreciate_ your asinine musings, Dexter."

A third voice was thrown into the mix as an older man yelled from the back, "Would you two can it!"

Like petulant four year olds, they fought back, their argument not so easily remedied.

"Remy is trying to extinguish the very essence of my existence," Dexter whined.

"More like your flare for the dramatic," she countered.

Rory took a step back from the counter, just in case the disagreement turned physical. Feeling slightly out of place, she toyed with the idea of just leaving, slipping out quietly to let them continue their irritation of one another. But her determination flared again, and she stayed put, watching intently as an rotund man of about 40 came out from the kitchen.

He waved a spoon thick with sauce as he spoke, sending marinara all over the counter. "You two are going to drive me to an early grave if you don't shut up, I swear to god!"

Dexter's face fell and his voice took on the tone of an innocent child. "You shouldn't swear in front of the customers, Joe."

Shaking his head, Joe pleaded, "Two minutes of silence. Please."

Remy grinned wildly, meeting his eyes. "That early grave thing; is that a promise?"

Ignoring her, he made his way back to the ovens, waving his hand and yelling, "Two minutes."

Once out of sight, the two behind the counter began again. "You're such a killjoy," Dexter started.

"At least I don't gargle with bong water."

"What happened to make you so bitter? You can talk to me, Remy."

She retorted with a choice finger gesture and an, "Oh, shove it."

Fed up, Joe stalked angrily back into the parlor. "I said two minutes. Is that really too much to ask for?"

The two looked away, masking their disgust with one another. Taking advantage of the momentary silence, Rory spoke up. "Excuse me."

Noticing a fourth party for the first time, Joe eyed her curiously. "Yeah?"

"Oh, she wants the job," Remy supplied with a sneer.

"Here?" he asked, eyes wide, voice incredulous.

Finally, she was recognized. Going over her game plan in her head once more (bits and pieces had been lost, seeing as how she was distracted while in the midst of her brainstorming, but the bones were still there), her expression turned to one of determination. "Yes," she answered confidently, taking a step closer to the counter.

Shaking his head, Joe spoke slower, as if to make sure she understood him clearly. "_You_ want to work here?"

"Yes," Rory repeated, not wavering.

Knowing she had just witnessed the previous exchange, he stood unconvinced. "No, _you_ want to work _here_?"

"It's as good a place as any," she assured him (and herself).

"You're sure?"

She was thoroughly confused now. Was this some sort of oral test? To see how desperate she was? Or how devoted she would be? Still unsure, she repeated "Yes" once more.

"Wow. Okay," he paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Total chaos. All the time. I mean, that sign's been up for months, and no one's lasted longer than a day."

"That's reassuring." She smiled tightly, rethinking her offer. As unsure as he was making her feel, she needed a job. Soon. _Now_. (Yesterday, even.)

"Wow. Here, huh. Okay, but don't say I didn't warn ya," Joe nodded.

"Wait, that's it?" Rory looked at him, waiting for the "Just kidding!" The "Gotcha!" The "You crazy girl! You'll never make it in _this_ world!"

He didn't say any of those things. He left her with an "You can start tomorrow." A "Good luck." A "Get here by about 10; these lazy turds are never on time."

And that was it.

After weeks of searching, of fruitless interviews, of coming home empty handed once more...it all seemed too easy.

She left the pizza parlor (on _blocks_ away from their apartment!) in a daze, whether it be heat-induced or not she wasn't sure.

It was official; she had roots.

This was real.

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Instead of taking a couple extra hours of overtime as he normally would have, Dean went home early that night, a bouquet of flowers in toe, to spend the evening with his wife. He didn't expect her to jump into his arms with glee, forgiving him for all his misdoings (not yet, anyway), but he figured it was a start and hoped that the gesture wouldn't be lost on her completely.

However, Lindsay's gaze never left the television set. A noncommittal grunt acknowledged his presence; she didn't give a damn about the flowers.

He was in the kitchen (flowers on the counter) making a sandwich when she spoke ten minutes later.

"I think we should go to counseling."

Dean looked up, partially surprised that there was, in fact, another person present. "What?" he asked, not sure he'd heard her correctly.

She turned off the TV and moved into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Examing the counter top, she addressed him. "I talked to my mom about it, and she thinks it's a good idea."

His grip on the ketchup bottle tightened and his head shot up. "God, you told her?"

"I didn't have to. The entire town knows you cheated on me," she argued. "She came to me and asked what I was going to do."

Sandwich forgotten, he gave his full attention to his wife for the first time in months, and for all the wrong reasons. "Do you think I wanted this to happen?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" she laughed. "'Cause it couldn't of happened if you weren't at least remotely interested, if you know what I mean."

Sighing, he looked away, then back at her, voice laced with...something. Something _sounding like _regret. "Can't you...find it in your heart to forgive me?"

She chuckled to herself. _I don't think I have a heart. _

Instead of saying that out loud, however, she shook her head and shrugged simply. "I'm going to bed."

And she did.

Leaving him alone under the naked light of the 60 watt bulb, rethinking whether or not this relationship was actually worth saving.

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Two hours, and Luke still hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise. Lorelai began ranting as soon as she got to the apartment. She continued all through dinner. They were now sitting on his couch finishing of their beers as she went on, finally losing steam and generally repeating the same thought, only phrased slightly differently each time she said it.

"I hate Dean," she sighed. "I hate having to see him, I hate that he talks to me. I hate that I hate him, because Dean was always so _good_," she concluded, burying her face into Luke's shoulder.

Luke searched for the right words to comfort her, only coming up with, "He'll...calm down."

"Listen to me! I've been a raving bitch all night and I ruined our date," she gasped.

"No, it's alright-"

"No, it's not!" she cut him off. "Why didn't you tell me to shut up?"

"I figured letting you go would be safer," he revealed honestly.

Smiling, she kissed him quickly. "Smart man."

He shifted uncomfortably, looking at his beer bottle as he asked, "If you were mad at me...I mean, you'd tell me, right?"

Laughing, Lorelai looked at him as if he'd just spoken a different language. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"I did give her the address, I-"

Knowing immediately what he meant, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "She would've gone regardless."

"Maybe not," he realized. "Maybe I should've talked her out of it. Or called you; you could've talked her out of it."

Looking down, she began peeling the label of the bottle, busying her hands. "She just needed to go, Luke. I just wish she'd call me."

"Why don't you just call her?" he suggested, wanting desperately to help. "You have her cell phone number."

"She left her cell phone here," she said sadly.

"Oh." His face fell, his master plan falling through. "Well," he hesitated, "I, um, I have the phone number. If you'd want to use it."

Tilting her head to look at him, she put on her best British accent. "How'd you get that, Sherlock?"

"Jess gave it to me."

The somewhat light-and-cheery disposition of the room faded, his words hitting her like a punch in the gut. Standing, she set down her half-empty bottle of beer to dissuade her from chucking it at the wall.

"You've talked to Jess?" she stated, getting a feel for the words herself.

"A little bit. I mean, a few times." Pausing, he looked up at her. "Yeah." he replied guiltily.

"When?" she was able to get out.

"A while ago. He called to give me the new number." Receiving no acknowledgement from Lorelai, he continued with his explanation. "We'd been talking...before all this happened, we'd been talking. He was just following through with our deal. I mean, I made him promise to keep me up to speed about where he was. You know, in case I needed a kidney or something..." he trailed off, getting no response from her. She was facing the door now, facing away from him. It worried him; the thought that she could snap at any given moment and he wouldn't see it coming. "Lorelai?" he tried.

A choked sob escaped her lips and Luke jumped up, taking her into his arms and she broke down against him. "It's not fair!" she managed to get out between heaving breaths. "He's calling you." (gasp) "She's not calling me." (gasp) "I just want her to..."

She slid to the floor in a crumpled mess before she could finish her thought.

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**_Notes:_** Wow, I was busy this weekend! Chapter 19 of _How to Survive_, a one-shot that smacked me out of nowhere, and this. I must say, I am quite proud of myself. :P I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter; it didn't work like I wanted it to...I hope I didn't disappoint any of you too much! Let me know in a review. ;) Thanks for sticking with me, friends.


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